Burning Today Options

[Olen]

Some of you probably remember my last piece, Yesterday's Shadow and that it had a rather unsatisfying ending. I spent the summer rectifying this and now have a sizeable sequel/ completion to it which is itself now finished. It would probably be better to read Yesterday's Shadow before this as it would make more sense, however you should get by without it. If anyone wants I'll put a synopsis here, though Yesterday's Shadow isn't very long so you could just read it here (enough plugs yet?)

Anyway without further ado:

Burning Today

Prologue

Dervas wore boots while he worked. Shoes didn't last long in the decaying mixture of blood, vomit, drink and drugs which floored The Black Guar. The dark man had finally passed out and for the first time Dervas dared look at him. A worn man with a broken soul. Who are you? The Black Guar didn't get passing trade – the mixture of pushers, heavies and racketeers who made up most of his patronage didn't appreciate strangers. In the first hour the man, who now lay face down on the table, had knocked two out cold and broken another's arm. They left him alone after that and he them. Dervas wiped the remains of a line of sugar off the bar and nodded to the bouncer who went to move the man to his room.

Someone knocked at the door. Dervas ignored it. They knocked again, for longer this time. He cursed and went to tell whoever it was where to go. It was late an he didn't need any more trade. He pushed open the door, a curse dancing on his tongue. A sack crashed to the ground, gold clinked within. A Breton in black clothes stood in the doorway.

“What's his tab?” There was no need to ask whose.

“Sixty.”

The Breton showed no surprise, and counted out the gold. “Listen,” his tone offered pain if Dervas didn't, “You keep giving that guy drinks, drugs, whores, whatever he asks for okay? For him happy hour doesn't end, tabs never have to be paid. Push as much as you can into him. Don't worry - I'll be round a couple of nights a week to pay you. That sack,” he kicked disdainfully at the one he'd just dropped, “Contains a thousand drakes, payment enough I'd say. If he asks don't tell him, just give him more drink. Understand?”

Dervas nodded, his mouth was dry.

The man disappeared into the night.

Dervas walked back into the bar. He looked towards the dark man's room. Who are you? he thought again, And what have I gotten into?

[treydog]

Woo-hoo! This starts at a run and doesn't let up. Descriptive, detailed, and intriguing. So many questions waiting exposition.... Did I mention that I love it?

[Olen]

Next bit and longer this time. It won't make as much sense without having read 'Yesterday's Shadow' though I guess you could work out what's happening.


1. Forgetting

I woke up with a scorching head, I was in a bed but had no idea of where or how. The skin was gone from my right knuckles. I cringed at the half light which slipped around ill-fitting shutters, an inn then. By the particular piquancy of the hangover I knew skooma and booze had featured heavily, maybe other stuff. I lay back and drifted into the timeless almost sleep of the morning after. Like a creeping glacier memories returned, I'd desperately needed something... Varnan was sick! I sat up and nausea hit me. I remembered I'd given him to a healer. The panic dispelled. I'd met Renera again after all the years. She'd gone. My stomach was a shrivelled bag of vitriol but even so I wanted a drink. So many years...

I stood, saw blood on my shirt and remembered fragments the night before. Not much to recall. I pulled it on anyway and pushed through into the bar. It was a dank hole, and that suited me fine. I waded though the remains of the reeds which covered the floor and, rather unsteadily, took a stool at the bar.

The barkeep appeared all smiles, “Scrambled kwama egg? I swear by it the morning after. Come on; its on the house.”

His words hurt my head and my right knuckles itched, I wasn't sure whether this was because I'd cut them on someone's face the night before or in response to my desire to wipe the grin from the dunmer on the other side of the bar. I resisted temptation and said, “Skooma is better, but I'll have the eggs too.”

He raised an eyebrow, “What sort of skooma do you want?”

“Your best. An eighth.” He scuttled away to get it from a room behind the bar.

The skooma was lousy but the eggs were tolerable. I told Dervas this.

“Sorry sir-”

“My name's Firen, I ain't a sir.”

“Of course, sorry,” he blustered, “You'll be staying here today? I'll go out and get better now.”

“Give me a bottle of greef first, I'll be in my corner.”

He nodded and put the bottle on the table before hurrying out. I took another mouthful of egg and suddenly my stomach flipped. I got as far as leaning before bringing my breakfast up on the floor, Dervas would just have to clean it, though I doubted he, or anyone else, ever cleaned that floor. I left my eggs and took the bottle and my pipe to the corner table.

I'd emptied the first one by the time Dervas reappeared and was looking up at the bar. There were a lot of bottles behind it and I was just sure that in the bottom of one I would find peace, or at least oblivion which is similar. Problem was which one? I'd just have to try until I found it.

***

I woke with a scorching head. After that I don't know much, days went by in a blur of vice and hangovers. I'd been on binges before, bad ones stopped when the money ran out. This was a bad one. But in the land of The Black Guar the money flowed in a bountiful river, and the barkeep never asked for the tab. I wandered about this in a few lucid moments, then I'd see my loose grey skin, the weight I'd lost, feel the pain in my gut. I knew it was killing me, so I drank and smoked the memories away.

It was evening, I think. I'd been vomiting all day and couldn't hold any spirits down. I was at a table with two of the locals playing crowns.

"Hear the news from Stent?" asked Tildas, the dunmer who was banking.

Llerri, the other, nodded. A deep scar cut across the right side of his face. I didn't know the history. I didn't care, "Yes, bad stuff. Makes you glad you don't live back country."

Tildas nodded, that way drunks do, "I say that if the Telvanni can't clean it up the temple should come and do it."

"As like as no it was a Telvanni."

"I haven't heard," I said, "What happened."

Both pairs of red eyes looked at me. Tildas was incredulous, "How can you not have heard? Oh stuff goes down out back country here alright, but away from the roads, and at night. Stent was annihilated in broad daylight they say. The townspeople were all found dead, whoever did it was inventive about it too."

"Aye," said Llerri with relish, "They say it was messy. People found disembowelled or scorched or freshly thawed," I wandered at how calmly he said it, "Plenty of signs of magic. Not that that'll surprise anyone."

"There's enough rouge sorcerers north of here," I agreed. It was my roll, Llerri wagered crowns and diamonds, Tildas spades. Three spades and two spots. I broke even.

Tildas took his drakes, "I hear there's been some trouble up at the fort too," I raised my eyebrows, "Not that interesting really..."

"Go on," I said and refilled his glass.

He smiled, "Well, other than Stent and a few messy killings on the road in the last couple of days I hear the Cult shrine is in uproar. That old basket Antonius Nuncius has been taking more from the bottle than anyone thought, apparently he'd been pinching from the donations. His novice reported him, some scrap about a patient going missing. Gods know why anyone would take someone there, Nuncius is a useless old fart. Meersa is far better."

I got a terrible sinking feeling. If only I was a little more drunk I'd have missed the implication, or not cared anyway. "What happened for a patient to go missing?"

Tildas looked confused, "Who cares? It's the Cult getting caught in the dump that's so great." He laughed.

"I care."

He stopped laughing. My reputation clearly preceded me. "Well," he said, "Far's I know he was just some adventurer, " he spat the word, "who went in too deep and got burned. No one local."

I swore. Copiously. If that wasn't Varnan I was a guar.

"What," asked Lleri, "Friend of yours?"

"I don't have friends. Now, what do you know of his disappearance?"

"Nothing really, everyone's talking about Nuncius," I don't think he could help a smile. Even so he was sweating. It surprised me, I hadn't realised I was so intimidating, "By the rumours he just disappeared overnight, one morning he wasn't there."

"Might have got fed up of Nuncius," laughed Tildas.

Varnan gone. Perhaps he had decided he was better and left, but at night and without saying anything? That didn't fit. I wasn't in the mood for this. I stood.

"Where are you going?"

"To ask some questions."

"What about the next wager."

"A decent play by Curio," I tossed him the buy-in, picked up my bottle and wandered to the bar. Foul stomach or no it had mysteriously emptied itself by the time I got there. Dervas already had a mug of greef poured, most folk drink it in small glasses, I don't. It too vanished.

"Catching up?" he asked as he poured another.

"No," I said taking a swig. Why the hell couldn't Varnan just be dull and simple? Surely it came naturally. And why did I have to find out about it? "What do you know about the disappearance of Ceril's patient?"

"Ceril? The novice up at the cult? I know someone went missing, nothing more really. He's kicked up a right stink about it, embarrassed them no end. Word is the patient just vanished, he was there at night and wasn't in the morning, the locks were all still shut."

This got better. Unconsciously I finished the mug. A new one replaced it. I couldn't be bothered but having broached the subject I continued, "I want to know more."

"Why? If I may ask?" there was something in his tone. Worry? "I'm not sure there is much more to know."

"If he's in a stick," I shook my head to clear it, "I may have to help him."

"I'm sure it's fine," said Dervas rather too quickly, "Here have some flin, it will help you relax."

I paused, I needed to find out more. To check he was alright. Why? The question was hard to answer, I just did. 'Why?' The other half of my mind replied, 'drink it'll go away. Everything does.' Why should I help Varnan? He could look after himself. But I should check at least. Why? The question blocked me at every turn, what was to gain? Things were good here, the booze flowed, I got enough skooma to keep the jones firmly away. I knew what was right. I should at least have a look.

Why?

Dervas looked at me, "Are you okay?"

I stood purposefully, ready to make a definite decision. For a moment I paused, maybe even twitched toward the door. Then I took the bottle from Dervas's hand and downed it. I sat heavily, my choice made. "Another of them, add it to the tab."

Another bottle appeared, the smile returned. "Anything else?"

"Another ounce of skooma." He was past looking shocked though I heard the dunmer next to me mutter something.

"Actually," said Dervas, "I got in a certain little something for you. One of the smugglers has got in some Tenmar, really hot stuff, I though you might like a try."

"Go on."

He produced a small vial, "Mind it's strong."

I nodded and retreated to my corner, bottle in one hand pipe in the other. He wasn't lying about its potency, before long the room wafted away on sweet clouds of whiteness. From deep in the fluffy haze I was aware of urgency, panic even. People crowded. Confusion.

This post has been edited by Olen: Oct 18 2009, 04:40 PM

[treydog]

Saying that I "enjoyed" reading the latest installment would be using the wrong verb. It was many things- well-written, disturbing, painful.... The point of art is to make the viewer (reader) FEEL. And you certainly deliver here. The despair and self-loathing and squalor are so real, I want to turn away. But I can't- because the words have drawn me in.

[Olen]

I admit I did lay it on a bit heavy in the last part but my intention was to set up a mood and backdrop without getting bogged down. Thanks for the comment. Another longish part, if they are too long do say and I'll make the cut shorter. As ever any comments appriciated.

2. Cold Morning

I could sense someone near me but was too near to sleep to do anything. In a second hand way I was aware that there was a lump in the mattress pushing uncomfortably into my back but it simply didn't occur to move. Slowly, though in truth the term meant little as I had no sense of time, but it felt gradual at least, I became aware of myself. Arms lying close by my sides. Legs slightly raised. Hands under a cheap blanket. My ear crushed against the pillow. They came like news from a foreign country, fantastical additions to the infinite darkness combining, ameliorating and becoming myself. After a long time, or not, I opened my eyes. They felt gritty. I looked around, it was a simple room, small with a single window. Bundles of herbs hung from the smoke-blackened beams on the roof. I tried to sit up and failed. I felt like I'd been trampled by a herd of guar. I lay there trying to fathom what had happened, I'd been unconscious, that much was certain but the details evaded me. Then the door opened and a middle aged dunmer woman walked in, she looked like there was some ashlander in her, she was short and an apron covered her enormous stomach.

"Hmm," she said, "You've come round. And about time."

I groaned weakly.

"What's you name?"

I had to think hard but eventually it came, "Firen," my voice was a croak, "I work for the Fighters Guild."

She nodded, apparently pleased, "Awake and not raving this time then. Good. I suppose you want to know where you are?"

I nodded.

"I'm Meersa, healer. And you took some particularly bad skooma, almost three days ago now. I had another couple in who took some of the same batch but they both died."

Memory came crashing down, and with it the hangover. I winced, what small part of the bender I could remember put it down as among the worst, and this time it had been almost fatal. How had it lasted so long? I put the thought away for later. "By the nine," I muttered reaching to rub my temples. My muscles felt like bags of water.

Meersa clucked, "You're a tough one, I'll give you that. I'd say half the city knows of your... excesses. Still I have some folk coming in from up Ness way, someone, or thing, attacked there last night and I'll see no help from those baskets up at the cult so I'd best give you something for the head. How deeply do you want to sleep?"

Something beyond the dysphoria of the hangover stirred in my mind at the mention of the cult. I thought but nothing came to mind. Meersa was glaring at me, "Sleep.." I said, "Not too deeply but sleep would be nice," the niggle at the back of my mind continued, "Is there something I should remember about the cult?"

She looked at me, testing. I held her gaze. "You managed to forget then?" she seemed surprised, "One of their patients went missing, I know they're useless but..."

I didn't hear her finish. Varnan had gone missing and what had I done? I shook my head, Now sober I realised I deserved to feel every bit as bad as I did. He had needed me. No, he still did.

"I don't want to sleep," I said, "I have something needs doing."

She turned from the kettle she was boiling, "You're in no state-"

"The man who went missing was a friend, I need to find him."

"Are you sure he didn't just get better?"

"Yes."

She paused, "Alright, so am I. Sit up." I did. The room span. "Are you sure you need to go now?"

"I should have days ago."

She nodded, "Willow bark, honey..." she murmured throwing things into the kettle, "I hear some things. Talk to Ceril but I doubt he'll know much. Dalam on the other hand..." She stopped.

"What?"

"I didn't say anything," she said. I shook my head again but didn't push her. A few minutes later she poured a mug from the kettle, "This should take the edge off the symptoms and give you more energy until your own returns."

I took the mug, a film of oil floated over bitter smelling brown liquid. I took a draught. It was foul and curdled my stomach. Was she trying to poison me? I discarded the thought, if she wanted me dead she'd had ample chance. I downed the rest of it ignoring the vile taste.

"Good," she took the cup, "I don't know who you are, or what sort of mess you're in. I don't want to, but there's iron in you and your friend needs you. This is a rotten city." I waited for her to say more. At length she continued, "There's a sword by the door, I doubt you'll see the rest of you stuff again."

I nodded, "My thanks... I... I'm afraid I haven't any money."

"Dervas paid some, and I suspect the next few hours will be payment enough."

My mind felt less addled after the tea but she still made no sense. I decided that free was fine by me. "My thanks," I repeated, and picked up the sword as I left.


It was cold outside. The rutted mud was frozen hard as stone, a frosty sun hung in a cloud brindled sky. I breathed the air and enjoyed its chill within my lungs. Even though I could feel the edge of skooma withdrawal the simple joy at being outside and free overwhelmed it. Free: the thought was a novel one. I could do anything now. Nothing had really changed, perhaps it was coming so close to death, or perhaps it was the death of the hope which had haunted the past decade. I felt different. The future beaconed, and I would go after Varnan. Not because fate pushed me but because I chose to.

Meersa lived west of the keep by the docks. The people here were less broken than those in the north of town but the area was far from rich. Over the road a dunmer woman hung out cheap clothes to dry, one side of her face was bruised. I doubted she'd fallen. This is a rotten city. Meersa had said that. It wasn't my business, perhaps Meersa would see to it, perhaps she wouldn't. I set off up the dirty streets towards the fort.

As I walked I realised why I had not stopped the bender. The city was a festering wound, people crawled like maggots, going blindly about their daily lives. Everywhere was decay, I passed an old man patching a repair on an old bit of cloth which covered his missing windows. Beggars raked through mouldering piles of rubbish which lay in side-streets with no hope of ever being cleaned. A low palisade separated the inner city from the slums outside, the guards at the gate were too intent on gambling away their debts to care who passed in or out. I continued on towards the Imperial Cult shrine. The keep was full of bored legionaries, I'd had a few postings like this when I was in the legion, guarding a fort in the middle of nowhere which only holds because nobody cared enough to attack it. It wasn't fulfilling work. Their apathy was fog which choked the poorly built rooms. Someone had scrawled vulgar slogans across the door of the cult shrine, I kicked it open.

Inside was dark and smoky. Nucius, the priest, glanced up before turning back to the bottle of cheap spirit on the altar.

"Father," I said, "I'm looking-"

"Stick it, s'wit," he said.

I drew my sword and his eyes widened. "No. Now what do you know of the patient who went missing under your care?" The glass fell from his hand and the smell of brandy added to the stench. I felt a twinge of longing, but crushed it.

"Other than it upset that treacherous fetcher Ceril? Nothing."

"You lie," I said and swaggered towards him, sword ready. I had no idea if he was but scaring him couldn't hurt.

"No," he squealed like a pig, "Ceril left him in the other room one night. I'd already gone. He wasn't there in the morning."

"Why wasn't he there," my head still hurt but I tried to look as threatening as possible. By the smell of urine emanating from the old priest I was succeeding.

"What's this?" a shocked voice behind me.

I turned to face a thin man. He hunched dreadfully and seemed intent on the floor, Ceril, if I remembered him rightly. "I'm looking for a certain patient of yours."

"Firen? You bothered to come and check then?"

"Yes." I ignored his accusation, "What happened?"

"Varnan was getting better. I left one evening having finished sweeping and locked up. The next morning he was gone, but the locks were still shut." His gazed flickered around like a Khajit on hot coals, something worried him and I suspected it wasn't just me.

"Had the locks been tampered? Did someone come in"

"How would I know? I'm a priest, well training to be one, I don't know about that sort of thing." His eyes were more on the door than myself. He was scared, and not of me.

"What do you know?"

His lip curled as if snagged on a fishhook, but he said nothing.

"You've kicked up hell already, you know that," I hate talking my way to information, breaking a few bones has a similar result and is easier but I had to at least try, "I don't know what it is you know but you've already gone far enough to get burned, you might as well tell me the rest."

He looked pained and was silent for a moment. Then he sighed, "Fine, someone showed... Interest in him. Asked me to keep him posted on the details. Someone who shouldn't have given a damn."

"Did you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"When Big Dalam asks for something you don't refuse."

I doubted it was the whole truth. I didn't care; I'd already heard that name today, "Big Dalam?"

Ceril looked distinctly miserable, "He's bad news. Camonna Tong."

"Where can I find him?"

"You don't want to..." he saw my expression, "The Camonna Tong stay in the Watcher's Club, next to the warehouse district."

"Thanks," I said and left.

This post has been edited by Olen: Oct 24 2009, 01:35 PM

[treydog]

Your descriptive power again places the reader right in the middle of the scene. I can feel the cold, smell the smoke of rubbish fires- and of less pleasant things.... And the narrative also moves forward nicely. Well-done, indeed.

[Olen]

3. Finding the Scent

The Watcher's Club screamed criminal hangout. It was halfway decent, for Firewatch, but the district wasn't. It squatted between two dark warehouses full of goods waiting for the docks, warm light spilled from its windows onto the early evening street. I pushed open the door. The murmur of conversation stopped. Every eye turned to look. I cursed inwardly, but didn't break step on my way to the bar. The barkeep was a dunmer, as were all the patrons, he glowered at me as he smeared grime round a glass with a greasy rag.

"A jug of shein," I said putting a coin on the bar.

"That's forty gold for your sort," he said, still polishing the glass.

The bar was still quiet, only a score of patrons, so I decided I wasn't in the mood to play it that way, "Oh well," I said, rather loudly, "I don't really want any of your horsepiss. Do you know what I really want? I want a word with Dalam."

A chair scraped behind me. Otherwise the silence was complete.

"What makes you think I know anyone by that name?" asked the barman.

"Because that fetcher is Camonna Tong scum and they seem to want to drink your filth."

The barman didn't answer, his gaze went over my shoulder. I followed it, behind me a dark elf stood up. When they'd called him Big Dalam they hadn't been lying.

He walked towards me slowly. About two inches from me he stopped, clearly he was used to people finding his size threatening. I resisted the urge to elbow him in the bread basket.

"Last week you went to see Ceril at the cult. Why?" I asked.

"None of your business, n'wah," he answered.

"I didn't think the stories were true," I said in mock surprise, "Your mother really did sleep with a guar. Was she one?"

"You're going to pay for that human." He was every bit as stupid and proud as I'd hoped.

"Care to take this outside?"

He turned to the door are strode out. I unhooked my sword from my belt but left the knife there and followed.

Outside he turned to me, "I'm going to gut you fetcher and dump the body in the docks."

I smiled at him and dropped my sword to the ground, "Fists only?"

"Fine by me." He laughed and put his massive forearms up.

I did the same and for a moment we circled, the snow had compacted to ice on the cobbles. It was as slippery as hell. He moved forward, testing the water, trying my defence. I didn't bother. He telegraphed his punch too much and I stepped inside the haymaker. He was fast and it caught me on the back of the head. I felt a ring on his finger tear my skin but ignored it. My hand was already at my belt pulling out the knife and before he'd recovered his balance I'd jabbed it left handed into his thigh. He yelped and bent forward only to meet my right elbow going upward. With a clack of teeth it connected with his jaw.

He was out before he hit the ground. No one had come to watch the fight, but that didn't mean they wouldn't. I could feel blood running from the back of my head but I ignored the urge to check it and dragged Dalam down an alley beside the tavern and into the shade of a warehouse yard. I breathed heavily as I propped him behind a pile of crates and tied his hands with his shirt. A combination of the punch and the effort of moving his bulk had brought back some of the sickness. Soon he would feel worse though. The thought was a warm one.

I'd placed the knife well well away from any arteries so it didn't bleed, much, as I pulled it out. Certainly not life threateningly. I took a clod of damp snow and threw it in his face then smacked him with my open palm. His eyes fluttered open. For a moment he sat dazed, then the swearing started.

"You filthy n'wah. I'll flay the cheating hide from your corpse you-" I put the tip of my knife in his mouth and he was silent.

"Don't bother struggling," I said. He did anyway. The knots would only tighten. "Now you're going to be civil. Why were you talking to Ceril?" I pulled my knife free.

"You piece of dirt. I'm going to-" I punched him. Hard.

"Tell me," I put the point of my knife against his breast, just hard enough for a bit of blood to well up.

He was silent.

I dragged the knife a little bit along his breastbone. It grated like a broken skate on rough ice.

"Okay," he gasped whitely, "Okay. You win. Damn." I thought he might be sick but to his credit he held it, "Someone asked me to. A breton, suspicious type. He wore black. I don't know who he worked for..."

"You suspect," he was frightened and easy to read.

"I had him followed. He went to Dervas's place then we lost him. Magic probably."

"You sure."

"Yes, yes. That's all I know."

"Good," my fist lashed out. He hardly knew it was coming before he was out. Someone would hear him shout when he came round, in the mean time I had my next name. And another I knew.

I walked back past the side of The Watcher's Club, it was near full dark so I took a lamp which sat in the windowsill. The cut on my head twinged. It was shallow and had scabbed fine, but not before soaking a good bit of blood into my shirt and jacket. Still I doubted Dervas would mind.

This post has been edited by Olen: Mar 21 2010, 02:04 PM

[canis216]

Well done. Real taut storytelling as ever.

[treydog]

Woo-Hoo! Another excellent scene. Please continue, sir. (Makes hopeful puppy-dog eyes).

[Olen]

Thanks for the comments. Without further ado:

4. Fey Night

It was mid evening and The Black Guar was busy with its usual range of pushers, thugs and toads. I stood in the shadows of an alley round the side thinking. I couldn't just walk in and set to work on Dervas, and in that moment I had every intention of working him over good and hard if he didn't have some pretty convincing answers. Or if those answers weren't the right ones. But I didn't want to hang around until he closed up, sooner or later someone would notice that Dalam hadn't come back, or even find him, and then folk would get jumpy. A month before I would have taken him on his advice on dumping bodies in the harbour, but something had stayed my hand. I felt I'd been right, but I couldn't see why.

I kept hidden and thought. I couldn't go in, I couldn't wait. I didn't really want to be recognised by anyone either. I turned at some shouts from inside. It was just another fight so I returned to the shadows. As I did the hooded lantern bumped my fingers I hissed in pain. Then I grinned, an idea started to form. It wasn't the smartest idea, even then I saw that, but it had a sort of inexorable appeal. By the shouting the fight was going to be a good one. I counted to ten before I heard a bottle being broken; it was even better than I'd hoped. Chairs scraped. I stepped from the shadows and hurled the lantern though the window.

It had been full. There was a clatter, barely audible above the brawl, and then a loud whumph. The shouts rose in pitch. From back in my hiding place I saw dancing light shine out the windows. Moments later the first patrons spilled out and stood across the street, their eyes fascinated on the blaze. More emerged, coughing now, Dervas was one of the last, a heavy sack hung from his hand. He looked about as if in a bad dream. He was shouting for buckets and water. Most of the patrons remained fixated by the fire. I stayed unnoticed in the excitement, just another figure in the flickering shadows.

"To the well," someone shouted.

This time more people moved, Dervas among them. I slipped into the group, still ignored in the excitement, and made my way to Dervas. "I have buckets in my house," I strained my voice hoping he wouldn't recognise it.

In his panic he didn't, "Yes, yes. Where?"

"Follow."

He did, I ran to a gap between two houses and turned. He eyes were wide. I punched him and dragged him between the dirty buildings. Just shy of the gardens he recovered enough to shout. I knocked his head against a wall and he fell back into a daze. I grabbed him and his jingling sack.

A couple of minutes later I'd dragged him onto the yard at the back of a smithy. It was quiet and would remain so until the morning. The forge was in a dilapidated shed by a garden wall, one kick opened its door. I dragged Dervas half conscious to the quenching bucket and pushed his head in. After a couple of moments he began to struggle. I pulled him out. He gasped. I stuck him back in. This time I held him under for longer.

When I pulled his head back out the greasy water he gasped and fell to his knees. I stood over him.

"Sorry," he whined, "I didn't know the stuff was bad. It won't be next time, I'll make-" A kick in the face cut him off.

"Its not the bad skooma I want to know about," I wasn't exactly sure what to ask, but he knew what I needed to know and I knew he would be a squealer. I picked up a hammer.

"What do you want?"

"I think you know." I was angry, a rage that had scorched years had boiled up and been honed into a sharp point by the purpose I'd found. I would find who was responsible. I would do what needed done.

He looked at me questioningly. I broke his leg. It was that simple, one swing of the hammer, one crunch. Something inside me shrivelled but I pushed it aside. He went to speak, I kicked him again. When I let him talk he was going sing. I pulled out my belt knife. He raised his hands to protect himself and I flicked it out and damn near cut one in half.

This time he really screamed. I was in a sort of dream, I'm not sure I could have done it if I hadn't been. Not that it was going to matter much to him soon. He quivered like a leaf in the Evening Star breeze. Vomit was added to the blood which soaked his trousers.

"Ready to talk straight? Or do you want to meet the bucket again?"

"I'll speak," he whimpered.

"Good."

He paused for a moment but there was no defiance in it, "Where should I start?"

"The beginning."

He took a deep breath, "The night you arrived, after I'd had you put in a room, a man arrived. A breton, he always wore black. He gave me a thousand drakes, a thousand, and paid your tab. That's why I never had you pay, he was, and more. He wanted me to pour as much drink and skooma into you as I could, not that you made it hard." He paused, afraid he'd gone to far. I ignored him. It was the truth, and that was what I'd wanted. "He came a couple of times a week, always secretive and always in black. He wore his hood low, I think to hide a streak of white in his hair, at the fringe. Otherwise I couldn't say what he looked like. I never found out anything from him, I didn't even try to follow him. But I did notice one thing."

"What."

"I think the gold was imperial, almost all the coins were minted in the Imperial City not Mournhold. That's not common. He wasn't a legionnaire either, you can spot them a mile off even undercover, and in Firewatch that only leaves the Mages Guild, or the Cult. Assuming he was from Firewatch. And that Mages Guild bloke up at the keep is an odd one."

I nodded, "Is that all you know."

"Yes."

I cursed his disinterest but I believed him. "Fine," I said and pushed my sword through him. He'd done more than enough to deserve it, and he pointed the same way as Dalam. The Mages Guild. Great.

[RavenMind]

I've just finished reading through this, and your previous story. They are both fantastic! I'm eagerly awaiting the next installment.

[Olen]

5. Last Visit

Firemoth was dead by night. I slipped through darkened corridors. The keep slept. I knew the Mages Guild man lived somewhere above the Cult shrine, but I didn't want to go up that way. In all honesty I had no idea of what the mage might be capable of. I wanted every advantage, he might watch the corridor, I wouldn't use the one he'd expect.

Eventually I found a stairwell near the eastern corner of the fort. After the first story the thick stone walls gave way to draughty warped planks. They didn't look like they'd stop a determined woodpecker, let alone a Telvanni warhost. It made me wander what the guards had done to be stationed there. I passed another three floors, their darkened corridors weaved crazily off into the gloom. The air was rank with disuse and decay. Then I was at the top of the tower, a few crates lay broken around a ladder. Cheap arrows and empty bottles poked out from them. I climbed the ladder and opened the hatch at the top. There was a dull glow. I pushed my head out and realised why; in the lee of the thin wooden crenellations a brasier smouldered. Next to it slumped the dark form of a guard, a bottle hung from his limp fingers.

I froze. Dead? Then I saw his chest rise and fall. Only sleeping. I shook my head, what sort of place were they running? As stealthily as I could I hauled myself from the hatch and shut it. Judging by the amount gone from the bottle I could have just walked past him, but I crept north anyway. The cult lay on the ground floor at the corner of the north and east walls. The mage lived two floors above it. I hurried through the darkness until I reached another trapdoor back into the keep, I reckoned I was roughly above the cult shrine.

Inside was dark, the same musty smell permeated this bit of the keep as every other part. I started down the stairway, at the next floor I paused but decided I'd go down the same level as the mage. After descending I turned away down the darkened corridor, by the rust on their handles and the smell of damp most of the rooms were empty. I stalked twenty paces down it before I noticed the light which crawled though the cracks around a the third door from where I stood. My heart seized. The mage. I was already hiding in one of the door frames at the side.

Stop being so jumpy, I told myself. I was being paranoid. Even wizards couldn't watch so well that it was necessary to go halfway round the keep to approach them. I pushed myself upright against the cracked door where I'd hidden. It swung open. I looked inside. Nothing but cobwebs. But among the stoor an idea lurked. I liked it.

Moments later I was across the room. It was adjacent to the mage's. The window was stiff but I forced it and looked out. Sure enough light spilled from another only a few yards further along. I looked down. It was a long way, but there was an external beam in line with the floor level. I could probably climb along it. I looked again at the dizzying drop. A fall like that would kill me. But so would a mage, and I didn't intend to fall. I climbed onto the windowsill. My foot reached for the beam, I stretched for it but found only air. I eased myself a bit further. Again I flailed at air. A bit further. My toes met something solid but it was as slippery as hell.

To get my foot on it I'd have to be right out the window, past the point of safety. I took a breath and stepped. And slipped. I grabbed the sill and tore a nail from my finger. It groaned warningly but held. I took a couple of breaths. Still clutching the mouldy wood I swung my other leg over into the night. The beam was slippery but once I had both feet on it I felt more secure. But not so safe I wanted to let go of the sill. I had to though, so I gripped the side of the window instead, as much for comfort as anything. I didn't look down. Strangely it took an effort not to. I eased my way along the beam, one hand still locked on the side of the window like a child's hand on a toy. My heart pounded as I reached towards the side of the mages window. If I could reach both I wouldn't have to let go.

I couldn't.

I was going to have to let go for a couple of steps. I tried not to think about it as I willed my hand open. With a deep breath I shuffled reaching for the side of the next window. My probing fingers had just found it when a gust of wind swayed me. It wasn't much, just enough to distract me. I felt my left foot slip. A dreadful certainty fell, crashing down like treacle in my mind. Engulfing me with black fear. I lunged for the next window. My foot went. I scrabbled at it and got my foot back up. The side of the window frame crumbled rottenly away in my hand. But I was already moving. Before I'd realised I wasn't dead I stood outside my goal. Even better it wasn't locked.

It opened easily. I climbed in through some light curtains and crouched surveying the room.

"Quite an entrance," I froze, the voice chuckled, "Good effort, but never underestimate the paranoia of a Mages Guild member in a Telvanni town." His voice was like oiled silk. He was sitting at a desk facing me. I stood, "Don't reach for your weapons." He punctuated the remark with a little flicker of lightning from his fingers.

B'vek. I'd walked right into him. He wore a black robe. He was a breton. And the wan lamplight glinted on a white streak in his hair. This was my mark.

"Well, are you going to say anything? Or do you make a habit of climbing in though third floor windows?"

"I want answers," I said with more authority than I felt. I hate mages, you go to bash their heads in and don't know how dangerous they are until one, or other, of you is dead.

"As," he answered with infuriating calm, "Do I. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Ernard. Does the name Renera mean anything to you? I see that it does," I cursed how easily he read me, "Then am I to assume you were involved in something to do with the Guild up this way?"

"Yes," I said.

"I would dearly like to know what," this time it was his turn to give too much away. He was keen. And confident, too confident of his own intelligence.

"I'm not sure," I said, laying on just enough stupidity to make an impression, "It was a ruin of some sort, not that I'd know velothi from dwemer. There was a lot of magic there, especially round the fountains..."

"Yes," he eyes gleamed. Idiot.

"Well not really fountains, more... I don't know. It was like blue light in them, but liquid."

He was almost salivating, "Where was this. Could you find it?"

"Maybe," I said, trying to sound slow while my mind raced. I rubbed the lump of the windowframe which had come away in my hand, "I found a strange stone there. It seemed to work one of the fountains."

Hook.

"Do you have it," he was like a Khajit who'd been told the sugar fairy was coming.

"Ummm, I think so." I almost made a show of reaching for my belt. Then I paused, "You don't mind?"

"No! No! Show me."

Still holding the rotten wood in my palm I pretended to pull something from a pocket. Then I held my hand out in a fist. His eyes followed it. I stepped round the desk so there was nothing between us. He was too excited to notice. I let my fist tremble a little as he reached out. Then I opened my hand and dropped it.

Line.

The idiot let out a squeak and bent to catch it. His face met my kneecap coming the other way, I landed my hands on the back of his head just in time to give it a last push. I didn't give him a second before kneeing him again and then pulling a handful his hair forward and down to face plant him into the floor.

And sinker. He'd thought I was an idiot, and true he was more intelligent, but it was all brain and no sense.

I dropped on top of him though in honesty I needn't have. He was out of it, I think 'd broken his jaw on the first strike. I elbowed him on the back of the head for good measure before casting about the room. I didn't know much about mages, could he cast a spell with me on top of him, how long would it be before he had come round enough to try? I hate spellcasters. I had a nagging feeling someone had once told me it was almost impossible to cast a spell if you'd lost a lot of blood. It couldn't hurt to try. I reached for my knife.

[minque]

Really interesting, just finished reading this one. Very good work, I'd say. So keep it coming, ya hear?


S.G.M

[Olen]

Thanks for the comments. This part was hard to edit to keep it's point while also sitting well with the whole PG-13 thing. I like the end result well enough though.

What does S.G.M stand for minque?


6. To an End

He was ashen white when he came round. I'd tied him into his study chair. A deep wound in one of his elbows still trickled blood into his imbrued clothes. My boots squelched slightly as I stepped in close to him.

"Don't try anything," I said. Fear clouded his eyes when they met mine, and well it should have, "I'm going to ask you some questions. You're going to answer."

His apprehensive gaze held.

"You were giving Dervas large quantities of gold. Why?"

"I didn't-"

"Lies," I kept my voice low, "Will not suffice." I held my temper, for the moment.

"What do you mean?"

"I know you paid my tab to keep me here. I know you were involved in the disappearance of Varnan, the other survivor of that damned job. You're going to tell me why."

"No. I am not." It was enough, I had the right man. If in a night of such black rage that mattered. The almost dreamlike state was back, maybe it had never gone. I knew what must be done, I didn't think beyond that.

I pushed my thumb through his left eye.

He screamed. "I paid Dervas to keep you," he whimpered, "I know about Varnan-" his own scream cut him off as I set to work. He'd had his chance to speak, by the time I'd finished he would beg me to let him. My soul shrivelled at what needed done, but the truth was more important.


Moonlight shone through the window, his face glowed in it. He'd been sick as I worked and it was smeared over his blood embrued clothes. He looked at me though an eye wide with terror like a huge pearl, the other was a shattered ruby. He looked at me and muttered to himself shaking. I slapped him.

"Listen," I said, gripping his throat. The shaking slowed but his breathing was as ragged as a beggars shirt, "You will answer the questions I ask. You will answer the questions I don't ask. If I even think you're holding something back I'll set to work again."

He nodded.

"Why were you paying Dervas?"

"To keep you here," his coughed and continued, his voice a little less reedy, "I was ordered to. The order came from high up but whoever gave it had concealed their identity. I don't know what you've done but you've stirred up a hornets' nest. There's hirelings and operatives all over the place, there's been a spate of killings back country too. All magical."

I nodded. This went right to the top then, but it didn't make sense. "Was the skooma you?"

"No." I waited for more, "I was told you were to stay alive, but sufficiently incapacitated. Most likely so they could study you if it came to it. You lead the expedition."

I decided not to bother asking what studying would entail. "What about Varnan?"

"The other survivor?" he swallowed, "The same order wanted him removed-" I reached for my knife, "Not killed. No he's alive." His panic was raw. "Someone else set it up, well most of it. Almost all of it. I don't know who, these are Telvanni lands, we have informers and agents everywhere..."

"Set what up?"

"He was sold." The mage's voice quivered. Fear dripped from him like sweat.

"What?"

"A slave train left a few days ago. I received the necessary papers and the train owner received the necessary bribe."

My knife was in my hand, I hadn't realised I'd drawn it. "You fetcher. You slaving s'wit. I haven't started yet."

He squealed. "I'll tell you everything I know. And what I suspect."

I stopped advancing but I didn't sheave the knife.

"The train was headed by Inren Dres, of that house. It's headed for Tear. Medium size, with enough guards. Their mage is rubbish, not that Inren knows it. He's a man of rich tastes and low culture, easy to track. He was headed for Helnim Wall. I don't know why the guild wants your friend alive but out the way, maybe they think you know more as leader. They'll come after you. I don't know what you were doing up north but I can guess, whatever went wrong it went wrong badly. I haven't seen them like this in years." The words came in a flood, any thought that he might be lying, or at lest holding anything back were washed away in the torrent. Tears ran down his cheeks. I felt faintly ill. "There's rumours," he continued, "That messy business up at Ness, and the attacks. It rarely gets this bad, even when the Telvanni are warring amongst themselves. And all since you appeared in town."

He let me put the rest together. I grimaced.

"It's all I know," he pleaded, "I can't help any more. There's money in the desk, just stop." The shaking overcame him.

I looked at him. Slaving scum, not just a trafficker either. He'd sold a freeman, somehow that was worse. I don't like slavers, even in my darkest moments I'd never worked for them. But now Varnan was in their clutches. Due to this man.

I rocked between thoughts while he begged and whimpered. But it was a man before me, scum or no. His skin, pallid under the streaks of blood and scrapes. The ruined eye. Another memory to stalk my dreams. In that moment I knew I was done. Quick as light my hand flashed out and opened his throat. His whimpers ceased with his pain.

It was over. The fire which had blazed so bright died. Had Meersa intended this? Was this what she'd wanted? I doubted I was the only one with fresh inspiration for nightmares. I at least did the mage the respect of looking at my work. I'd... extracted information before. But not like this. I hunted people who did this sort of thing. It had been necessary, I needed to rescue Varnan now. I was fighting for good.

But at what cost to my soul?

I took a sack of coin from the desk and left by the door. By morning Firewatch would not be a good place to be.

[minque]

What does S.G.M stand for minque?

Story.Good.More

It's an old nord proverb! Made by treydoggie

[Olen]

7. Fresh Morning

In the bottom of a dry gulch I dreamed. Blood and fear and flames. I dreamt of the mage, only in the darkness of my mind he wouldn't speak so I kept at my dark business. On it went, my discomfort growing by the moment. I didn't want to continue. But I couldn't stop. I woke smeared with sweat. It was cold, the sun only just peaking over the horizon. For a while I just watched it rise and shook, the memories of the previous day cartwheeling in my mind. The work of a monster, I hadn't been myself. But I knew that I had known full well what I was doing, even the consequences. That's what hurt.

I sat up, hungry in spite of the sickness at myself. There was no food. I stood, with luck I'd find a farm somewhere on my way south who would sell me victuals. And maybe some skooma, a voice inside me whispered. It would make the dreams and guilt go away. The madness of the previous day had covered the withdrawal but I felt it now. No. I climbed out the narrow ravine cut by the stream. Varnan needed me. Slavers... I could still hardly believe it. The weak sun shone over the moors to my east, cold and hard. But in that moment I knew that I would rescue him, or die trying. I was finished with skooma, finished with the guild and finished with my old life. The events of the previous night would haunt me, and so they should. If I freed Varnan I would have at least some absolution.

I had a strange feeling as I started my southward walk. Not nice, but determined, more so than I'd ever been before. Maybe this was what they called duty. If so it wasn't as heavy as the crushing void which it had filled. The moors were more hospitable than the mountains to the north. I headed inland and as the day passed were ever more signs of people. Not the mad wizards of the north but actual people. In the more sheltered valleys guar shielings nestled out of the weather. Small paths, most likely left by animals, crisscrossed the ground which bore scrubby heather and grass. Initially I gave the occasional hamlets which occupied some of the more defensible hilltops a wide berth. Helnim Wall was about twenty-five leagues south of Firewatch, I didn't know its location any more precisely than that so I was going to have to go to one soon. That and I needed food if I was to keep a pace which would catch the caravan.

As the miles passed the land became more tended. There were some paths which looked like more than animals frequented them. I saw more fields on the less rocky slopes and the settlements moved from the hilltops to the valleys. Even so it was a surprise when I came upon a lone farmstead in the cleft between two hills. Smoke rose from the chimneys and a pair of guar stood in the yard. I approached slowly looking for any other signs of life.

The farm buildings weren't what I was used to. The single barn was heavily built and glared suspiciously through windows narrowed almost to arrow slits. The farmhouse was built onto the back of it, it had no windows. I was nearly in the yard before a dunmer stood from behind a pile of hay. He held a drawn bow.

"What's your business human?" he called in a thick accent.

I stopped, "I want to buy food."

He let the tension out the bow but only half lowered it. "Fine. Don't try anything though."

"I won't," I said and continued my approach. As I reached him he turned and crossed the yard to the house. The guars rose their large heads then went back to picking at the hard-packed earth. By the door to the house there was a handcart with a broken wheel and the remains of a bench.

"Take a seat," he said. I did and he sat next to me, "What do you want to buy?"

"What food do you have? Anything which will travel well."

"Where's you pack?"

"I don't have one," I wandered if he was thinking of robbing me but my worries were dispelled.

"I might have a blanket I could live without, for the right price."

"I have coin."

"Good. Wait." he scurried into the house. I looked over the small farm, it wasn't bad. The bench was rotten as hell but the spot was a sun trap and was warm in spite of the season. A few fields grew a variety of plants. There must have been a fair family in the house to tend it all. I looked up at the building and saw another dunmer watching me from one of the narrow windows. I pretended not to have seen and leaned back. They wanted my money, but I doubted they'd have the courage to take it by force. My legs were weary anyway, perhaps more than they would have been normally, a reminder of the events of the past few days. And what they'd lead to...

That train of thought was broken by the re-emergence of the dunmer. He carried a sizeable knapsack with a thick, if lumpy, blanket rolled on top. "I've packed it with scrib jerky, pickled kwama egg, and lots of saltrice. The sack, blanket and food for fifty coins."

I smiled at him, "Even in a shop that would be thirty, but I'll be generous and give you thirty-five."

"Forty and I'll crack open this shein and we can have a drink. I need a rest."

"Done," I reached into the bag I carried and made a show of raking around, they didn't need to know just how much gold I was carrying. I pulled out the coins and handed them to him, "Thanks."

He pocketed them quickly save one which he bit, "Mmm," he said, "Imperial coin. Thank you, its purer gold than the local stuff, much softer," He put the coin away and transferred his teeth to the cork of a rough ceramic bottle. It popped out and he took a swig. "It's good," he said, "I make it myself."

I braced myself for what was to come as I tipped back the bottle. The comberry wine was remarkably smooth with its classic sourness. Strong too. "Its good," I said, truthfully, "I have a question."

"Ask away," he smiled. The rest, or the coin, had done wanders to his friendliness.

"What's the best way from here to Helnim Wall?"

He looked at me speculatively for a moment, "Is best the quickest? Or the quietest? We don't see many travellers here."

"Quickest," I needed to catch up with Varnan, and I doubted pursuit would come that quickly, if at all.

"Then I don't know why you didn't stick to the road. Just go over the hill due east for a couple of miles and you should pick up a cart track which is your best bet. It joins the road about another seven miles south, then its a day and a half to Helnim."

"Thanks. Is there much traffic on it?"

"Well," he took a deep swig and passed the bottle, "It ain't a midsummer fair but there's a bit. A few travellers and a bit of goods for the south. Mainly lighter more valuable stuff. Otherwise its easier to take it round by boat even with the storms and taxes and all. I swear those damned mage lords will tax us all to our graves, or better theirs. The weather's always foul, and it's them I swear. Not that anyone cares about the farmers round here." I made a noncommittal noise and he continued, "There was a day they farmed up north, now I'm near the most northerly. And these attacks, well I can't be too careful but it's only more costs. But after what's happened in Stent and then there was old Enrol found strung up with his family. It's getting worse by the year..." he trailed off, "Anyway the road," he said, "It ain't over full but there's enough for it to be a bit dangerous. Highwaymen and the like. Fetchers all of them."

"Thanks," I took the pack and a last swig of the wine, "I must be going." My legs protested as I stood but I ignored them. Sitting drinking wine had got me, and Varnan, into the fix. And brought about the last night. I shook my head to dislodge the memory.

"Going already? Very well sera, good journeying," said the dunmer farmer.

"Thank you for the food, and the wine," I said and turned away from the farm and to the east.

[Olen]

8. Circles

I found the track the farmer had described in a broad valley to the east. It had seen brighter years though: weeds crawled over its potholed surface and the creak of a wheel was an alien sound. I walked quickly but with my mind turned inward, Firewatch would be in uproar. Meersa had healed me, had known I would stir the hornet's nest, even encouraged me. Now did she see how they stung?

Once I might have been proud. When I was young it would merely have reflected the satisfaction every man gains from altering the world, changing its very course, if slightly. Later I had known enough of that, but only then had I ever done jobs with effects as potentially large as what happened the night before, and never with such wild disregard. Then it had been the rage, striking a world for where it had left me. Perhaps the same could be said of Firewatch. I'd killed my way to a truth. I'd been in a rage, or ecstasy. A fey night.

And now the grey light of day extinguished the dancing flames and left only the screams, and blood, and horror. As it always would. A strike against a cruel world or against the one who lead me? The drab moors the unchanging path left my mind to wander. I walked and brooded, nursing my self-hatred like a beggar picking a wound. Miles passed. But even through the dark thoughts and creeping desire for skooma which burrowed like worms in my soul I saw the hint of motion on the road ahead. I stopped, my sword had already found its way to my hand and I stood ready. A large dunmer stepped from a couple of trees, the first I'd seen down the path. He held an axe and a dirk.

"Drop the sword and the pack and I might let you live," he said. A long scar twisted one side of his mouth. It might have scared some people, to me it just suggested he was incompetent even for a highwayman.

"Stick it elf."

"I shall not warn you again. Hand over your pack." His voice was low, and forced.

I shook my head, "You don't want to try. Disappear back into the trees and I'll forget about you. That's more than I'd have given you last week." It was true.

"N'wah," he screamed and charged straight at me, the axe over his head.

I kept an eye on the dirk, assuming the axe was a diversion. It wasn't. He was really that bad. I sidestepped and cut his fingers. The axe fell. As did his smallest finger, I shuddered. He screamed and rounded on me with the dirk. His strikes were quick but he telegraphed them and I wasn't pushed to block them. I could have killed him easily with the superior length of the sword, and had he been any good I would have. I knew it was stupid, I had every right to kill him. What about Dervas or the Mage?

The thought cost me. He blade nicked my forearm. I swore, knocked the dirk sideways and kicked the back of his knee. He fell in a heap. I put my boot on the dirk and the point of my sword to his throat. "Drop the dirk and then give me a good reason not to kill you."

He opened his hand and I kicked the long blade away. "Don't hurt me," his pleads sounded so similar to the others, "I wouldn't have you. I can help. I'll help you."

"You better not," I answered.

"I have things," he said, "We can split them, you can have half." I said nothing. "Three quarters," panic tinged his voice, "No, sorry. I'll give you it all. I can show you where it is."

"What makes you think I want anything you have. Now tell me; how far to the main road?"

"The main road? You're on it, near enough. It's on the other side of the trees."

"You watch the road."

"Yes."

"Seen much traffic lately?"

He paused, then his face lit up, "Of course, there was a tax shipment going south to Helnim but you've missed it. If you get a quick horse you might catch it before Tel Drenya. It had a few guards, I didn't dare show myself. But a fighter like you-"

"I'm not interested in banditry. The last few days going south. What have you seen?"

"Well, other than a few merchants and peasants," he spat the word, as if he wasn't one, "There were a couple of wagons. Done up like pilgrims but rogue Telvanni if you ask me. And the slave train, a few days ago. Biggish one, what with food being expensive up here, especially recently, the slave price has dropped so they're moving them back south again. Good money I'm told. North south, the lizards won't know if they're coming or going." He laughed.

I didn't. "Tell me about this train."

"What's there to say. Fairly typical. A good few guards, the merchant in charge - Dres if you ask me - the slaves. A few hangers on. I didn't notice much, they had a mage so I kept well hidden."

"Fine." For a moment I considered killing him. By his own admission he preyed on the weak, and I had every right. But was it just? The law was with me, there was not doubting that, but did I have the right to pass judgement. No. I couldn't. It would only fuel the dreams.

"Roll on your face," I told him. He obeyed, "If you move until I'm well out of sight you will die."

I turned from him and scooped up his weapons and left. Past the trees I came on the road, it was even surfaced with broken stone. I continued south checking behind me for pursuit. I saw no one. After a couple of miles I tossed the highwayman's weapons into a ditch. I couldn't help wandering if I should have killed him. Weapons are not so rare: in my compassion how many innocent travellers had I sentenced to robbery, injury and death? Would it not have been the just thing to do as the watch would have. But I'd been in the legion, I knew about justice.

After another couple of miles the sun began to touch the western moors and I settled for the night in a small copse of trees. I could have continued further but I would make Helnim Wall on the morrow either way and I wanted to spend a night there. I didn't bother with a fire, I was too wrapped in thoughts. How would I feel had I killed him? Worse. I was not a guard, my business was not to kill him. I tried to lay the thought to rest. I had done the right thing. There was a chill in the evening air which promised of worse to come. I mentally thanked the farmer, whose name I couldn't remember, if he'd even given it, for the blanket and wrapped myself into the nightmares.

Sleep was long in coming, black thoughts skipped with my dark mood. I wanted skooma, it lifted me from the depressions. But I would not have it. I would endure the mood and drink every last draught of it. There were decades bottled up. I was just getting to sleep when the first of the cramps hit.

***

The night passed in a series of half-dreams roughly torn apart by the cramps. When I wasn't trying to straighten out muscles full of hot nails my dreams were sickly. I was getting skooma, or trying to smoke it but unable to light up. I dreamed of my pipe, with the small dent in the coal chamber, the leaky water chamber. I doubted I'd ever see it again. It was like losing an old friend. Interspersed through the dreams were the faces from Firewatch, and from before, telling me the truth about myself. I knew if only I could find skooma they would leave me.

In the grey half-light before dawn I lay awake, not that it stopped the voices. They whispered just beyond hearing of the things I'd done. Insidiously stirring the dust from memories long buried. I lay still fearful of another cramp.

Crack. Another part of the dream?

No it was different. It was from outside. I blinked my eyes. A shuffling. Someone was trying to sneak up on me. My fingers found my sword. I waited for the person to get closer.

They crunched on through the copse, slowly. I caught movement but never a decent view for the bushes which covered the ground. Then the bushes were pushed aside and I saw someone crouched low. They carried a weapon. I leapt to my feet. A cramp threatened in my right hamstring but I staved it off and faced them.

"What's your business," I said.

"N'wah." The figure screamed and charged me. His weapon swung an arc in the air. Instinct took over. I stepped inside the arc and pushed my sword forward. It met resistance. I drove it home. The but end of his weapon crunched into my ribs and I swore. I pulled my sword free and kicked him over, already looking for anyone else. There was no one. It was over that quickly. I looked down at my assailant and saw the highwayman I'd spared the day before. Dead. By my hand. My reform confounded.

I had been wrong, I mused later as I continued south, I had not escaped the hold fate had taken on me. I had thought I done with killing. Firewatch had been the final flare of a dying fire, my horrific swansong. So I had hoped. Two days later the strings of fate had pulled me back into the old ways.

I'd left the corpse unburied. Just like so many. Another cut on my tattered soul, and no skooma, or even alcohol, to smear into the wound. Periodically I had to stop to break the worse cramps which seemed to build like embers in the knots of my legs. My appetite was gone. Except for the blessed white smoke of skooma. This was beyond the creeping thoughts and itches. This was a love burning me from inside. I think the only thing which got me up was the knowledge that in Helnim Wall there would be a bleak tavern, and in that tavern a pusher.

The thoughts played on the same like a cheap minstrel. I ignored the few other travellers I met while the miles slogged past to the grinding beat of my bootheels.

[Olen]

Appologies for the delay, RL has conspired to make life awkward recently but I'm back to posting now.


9. Opportunity

It was nearing dusk and the cramps in my calves were rattling fires. I barely knew. It was half an hour since I'd spotted the glittering lights of a large town. Helnim Wall. I rubbed my hands round each other as I went. It helped with the tremors which had been building since I'd not bothered with lunch. I couldn't face food. It made the withdrawal worse but my hopes of staying off had crumbled to disappointment. I couldn't give up. It had been stupid to think otherwise.

Helnim Wall was more typical for a Telvanni town than Firewatch. The houses were tumescent fungi bursting from the earth like warts on a corpus monster. Most were the normal two rooms but towards the centre there were a couple of larger ones. Their turgid forms were dark against the sky. The higher would be the town ruler, no doubt a mage and insane. The squat building below it would be a tavern. I headed for it as I passed the guard who stood at the edge of town. A few people were out on the streets, those few who didn't ignore me only scowled. Typical Telvanni: probably haven't been to the toilet in the last week and look like they've just stood in something horrible. They were right on the second part, Telvanni towns are horrible and the locals did nothing to improve my views of them as I made my way to the large building.

It was an inn, a cracked sign announced it to be The Old Toll. I went in and wrinkled my nose at the damp rotten smell which permeates mushroom buildings. It was well enough lit by several candles but in spite of the hour it was fairly quiet. I wasted no time in getting to the bar and less when I got there.

"Evening," said the barman.

"What have you got?" I asked rubbing my hands though each other.

"A variety of food and local liquor, I especially advise-"

"What else have you got?"

He nodded, "I wouldn't know what you mean. Perhaps Krelas will. Over there," he pointed at a corner table.

I turned from him and walked quickly to the corner. The pusher looked up, even for a dunmer his skin was grey and his eyes had a dusty look. A heavy user then. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Skooma," I answered.

He glanced round like a startled rabbit, "Yes," he whispered.

"How much for two bottles?"

His eyes widened momentarily, "Two? There isn't that much in the town."

"How much do you have?"

He took a moment to reply. "Three quarters of a bottle," again he glanced around. I wandered if the idiot realised that everyone knew what he was at, "But quiet... if the watch knew about that much even..."

"I'll take it all. How much?"

"Its not all for sale."

"I'm sure you can get yourself a fix elsewhere. I'll give you three hundred." It was a high price for what would doubtless be awful but I wanted it now. Haggling would take to long.

I think my knowing he was an addict shook him, combined with the price he nodded. He didn't say anything as he pulled a cheap bottle from his bag and passed it under the table. I ostentatiously counted a pile of coins onto the tabletop and enjoyed watching his ill face whiten. Once I'd done he scraped up the cash and made a sharp exit.

I took a swig on my way to the bar. It tasted bitter as sin but it felt like lust to drink. Almost already I felt my muscles relax, the bleating need drain away. I took another sip and sat myself by the bar. "A bottle of your best shein and whatever passes for food in these parts," I said to the barkeep. He cast me a disapproving glance and scurried away to the kitchen. I relaxed and went to take another sip of the skooma. I didn't care what the locals thought but it was possible they would throw me out if I lit up. The skooma was low grade and I could already feel the stomach ache which follows drinking the cheap stuff so I put it back in my pack. I had a fix and that was what I wanted. It was good the temptation of another bender had been averted.

I savoured the golden flame of the skooma until the barkeep reappeared with my order. Some sort of mushroom omelette - the Telvanni obsession with fungi borders on pathological - and a dusty bottle. I pulled the cork out and poured a glass. It was a deep red for comberry, one sip told me it was indeed good stuff.

"That's twenty gold," said the barkeep.

"How much for a room?"

"Another ten, fifteen for the best suite."

I handed him forty drakes, "I'll take the good one. Keep the change."

The dunmer nodded at me a smile emerging on his drawn face, "Thank you sir. I'm Balas Vavas."

I took a drink of my wine and a bite of the omelette. It was good, spiced in the way Telvanni do, but not so overpowering as it can be. "Mmm," I said, "This is good." Balas nodded, "Anyway what's the news in town?" I pondered repaying the courtesy by giving my name but decided to seem a little foreign.

"Here?" he laughed, "Nothing happens in Helnim Wall, well nothing much anyway, good thing too. Had a big slave train come though the other day. They weren't selling though, not that anyone has the money to buy up here. Quite a commotion though."

My ears pricked up, "Quite a few folk I imagine."

"Well there was when they came in," he gave a laugh which sounded like it had been collected and pickled for such an occasion. I could see him becoming annoying, "Right to-do. The leader, Inren Dres, is an utter boat. He had a few too many and fell out with the head of his mercenaries rather publicly. As a result he's lost his extra guard and just has his own handlers. Have to give it to him though; he daring to travel so lightly armed in this area."

It took a moment for the information to sink in. The slave train was poorly guarded, there might even be mercenaries kicking about for hire and with no love for its leader. I put another five gold on the bar. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Well thank you sir. I'm quite partial to mazte if you're offering."

"Put it on my tab, make it a double. And get yourself vintage."

"Thank you sir." He scurried off to pour himself a measure of his favourite spirit. I smiled, if his tongue wasn't already loose that should oil it.

"So," I said when he returned, "What all can you tell me about this slave train."

He nodded slowly and took a sip of his mazte, "It was a fair old size, I say maybe twenty-five, maybe thirty slaves, they bought a couple from old Master Niddas, looks like the rumours about his money problems are true... The leader, Inren Dres I think his name was, had perhaps ten of his own men, just handlers but I'm not sure about the number because they camped out of town. I do know they had an escort of another dozen hired mercenaries because they were here until yesterday drinking their pay. Went south I think."

"When did the train leave?"

"Three days ago, they were headed for Alt Bosara, I dare say to get a boat there."

"Any idea where?"

"Well he's Dres and by his accent his as southern as they come so I'd say Tear. I hear the slave price is much higher down there where its easier to feed them."

I nodded. "How long will it take him?"

"From here? A quick traveller might do it in three days but with a big train like that he'll be pushing for five, six more likely."

I was a very fast traveller, and by how long it had taken them to reach here from Firewatch they would be more than six, I could catch up and make my move. Whatever that might be. Still it only left me four days, at the outside. Not as long as I'd hoped for. I turned to my food and wine and after a bit the barkeep went to polish some glasses.

[Olen]

Next bit, as ever replies and criticisms are appriciated.

10. Duty

I took a while over the wine, the dose of skooma, albeit small, he relaxed me without any of the buzz of a bigger hit. The sun was well set but the bar was still fairly empty. Probably because word hadn't gotten round that the drunken mercenaries who are, almost universally, utter boats, had left. Eventually I finished the bottle and decided a second would probably help me sleep. I caught the bartender's eye.

"A second bottle if you would, and I'll settle up now." I handed him the gold and he gave me the bottle.

"Quiet tonight," he remarked.

"I thought it must be," I replied, "The mercenaries?"

"A bit but it was market day today. Hardly anyone's coming in from the outlying settlements just now."

"Really?" A few people had made comment about the backcountry being bad, but this suggested that it was a recent development.

"Well first there was Stent. I hear the whole town was found dead. Bit nailed to walls, corpses hung with their own intestines. And signs of magic everywhere. Then there was Ness, similar sort of thing but this time in broad daylight. And lots of isolated farmsteads have been attacked, but only in the last week or so. And then the day before yesterday news came in about Aldram. It's just a small village but they made a nice mazte there. Entire town was raised to blackened posts. The inhabitants were in a scorched mound in the town centre. Its a rouge mage I say and I'm not alone. Powerful one though.

"Any idea who?"

"None. Not even rumours. The odd old mage goes over the high side but it tends to only be the nearest town gets it, these aren't even near each other but that's not the strangest, news came in today about Firewatch."

"What?" I said, very reluctantly.

"There was a spree of murders," my heart sank, "Three in one night. And whoever did it was a sadistic whoreson. They say it might be connected. The first was a Camonna Tong brute, found beaten and left tied up to die of exposure."

I grimaced. I hadn't meant to kill Dalam.

Balas mistook my grimace and dove into the details, "They found him the next morning really beaten up, all bruised. But corpses don't bruise. He was tied up. But that's not the worst, gods know."

I knew. He was enjoying the telling a little too much.

"A barkeep, Dervas, he ran the Black Guar. It was a hole but I met him once, seemed alright. Not involved in any shady stuff. Anyway his place was torched an in the chaos he went missing. A smith found him in the morning really messed up. But it was the same guy, all the timings work out. He must have finished with the Camonna Tong guy and headed to the Black Guar. He took Dervas into a shed and smashed his leg up with a hammer, looks like he might have drowned him a bit. Not enough to kill him like, just to cause pain. Nasty eh? Then he must have set to work on the guy with a knife because I heard his hand was in tatters and he was beaten up too. He killed this one with a sword though - must've figured that the shed might offer protection from the elements."

I wanted to tell him to stop. I wanted to shut him up. But it would look too suspicious, and in a strange sort of way I felt I deserved it. Or at least owed it to the dead that I hear of my handy work.

"Even that wasn't the worst though. They guy must've been a professional because then he went to a local mage up in the fort," Balas leaned forward conspiratorially. Suddenly I didn't really want my wine, I didn't think anything was going to help me sleep then. Balas was too absorbed in the telling of the story in all its gory detail to notice, "The killer tied him up and bled him. Actually bled him, some people say he was a daedra worshipper or something, I hear they do that sort of thing but I have my own theory." he lowered his voice, "I think he might have been Dark Brotherhood, that's their sort of stuff that is. Anyway after that, or maybe before, he really worked the mage over. Cut off his fingers and broke bones. A few of his teeth were missing too and one of his eyes. They say he was made to eat it. It's hardly a wander people are afraid to go out."

Some of it was the usual rubbish which develops in the rumour-mill. But not enough. Not near enough. The skooma had brought some piece, that was gone and its sugar had the oily sweetness of a five day corpse. I wandered what I had been thinking that night. A dutiful rage had been on me, the idea of saving Varnan and myself, but it fueled only nightmares.

"Who told you this?" I managed.

Almost immediately I wished I hadn't. "A guy from Dervas's place. Even said he thought he saw the killer, new guy in town, weird like. Bad news, they called him that. Apparently he called himself Firen."

I was very nearly sick. I'd so nearly given this guy my name. They had my name. I'm not sure what it was: I knew I'd done the murders, but the idea of them staining my name was horrific, like fruit full of worms.

"Are you alright?" Balas noticed this time.

"Yes," my voice was weak, "I so nearly went there. And I need to be back on the roads tomorrow... Sorry I'll have to rest."

I staggered to my room and fell into bed.

I didn't find sleep for a long time. The murders and torture I'd committed chased my ruined name over the over the depression of my mind. Thoughts of my ineptitude danced with thoughts of Varnan's trouble. Surely it was worth it. I'd come so far now there was not turning back anyway. I'd saved him then abandoned him. In some way I was responsible, it was as much myself I was saving. But the images to go with Balas's descriptions hovered in the bedlam of my half-dreams, images of my own craftsmanship. Creations I remembered producing: the feel of knife on bone, the screams, the hot slick blood.

But behind the flying wheels of guilt and horror another terrible truth was dawning. The killings out back country were new. A mage was responsible. "I don’t know what I’ll do, what it will do.” Renera's parting words haunted my twisted sleep.

[Olen]

11. Choice

I sat bolt upright. Instantly awake. The tail of some nightmare evaporated with the dawn sun under the shutters. I didn't feel rested, but in the night I had come to a decision. I was running blindly, in Firewatch I might have thought I'd escaped the bonds fate had on me but I'd been wrong. At least this time I would find out as much as I could. The caravan was weak, I would find out how weak, and where best to hit it. It didn't take me long to pack, all I had were the clothes on my back, the sword and the sack of stolen gold. If I was going to be attacking the caravan I would need some armour at least, and a change of clothes once these were soaked in blood. I pushed open the room door to find Balas standing at the bar.

"Morning," he said.

I nodded, "I'm leaving today. Where can I buy stuff in Helnim Wall?"

"What sort of stuff?"

"Some supplies and some armour. And some information."

"I won't ask," he said, "Try the market for your goods, just go left out the door. For information... well I can guess. Telvar Senim knows everything that goes down in town, he's the smith, I dare say he'll be at his forge in the market."

"Thanks," I said and left. He looked slightly put out that I didn't tip him but I doubted I'd see him again.

The sun was low above the eastern moors, the morning haze chilling its blue light. I turned left down the main street and was almost immediately in the market, though the small collection of stalls in a hollow beside the inn was worthy of the title. Most of them were closed, or only just opening. The smithy was on the other side, I could hear the clatter of hammer on anvil. I walked towards it and bought a few bags of food on the way. When I arrived at the forge the smith didn't look up.

I coughed, "Telvar Senim, I believe?"

The burly dunmer stopped hammering and brushed some dirt from his apron, "What's it to you outlander?"

I put twenty gold pieces down on the anvil.

"You've got my ear," he said, but grudgingly.

"I'm interested in buying armour."

"Yes?"

Dour local, I thought. "What do you work in? I want lighter stuff, I need travel quickly."

"Depends how deep you're pocket is, and how long you have to wait."

"If you have any ready made-"

"I'm a smith, of course I do but I make them for dunmer not your sort. None of them would fit you. If you want them now I have an old leather suit should fit you, or some plate but it needs repairing."

"Can I see them?"

Telvar nodded and raked though one of the many chests behind him, when he turned he had two suits of armour, "This is the plate," he handed me a pauldron. Good thick stuff."

He wasn't lying. It felt like it would happily stop anything short of a falling tree, and even then it might. It also weighed an astonishing amount. I shook my head, "Too heavy."

"Fair enough," he handed me the leather. It was good quality stuff, a bit on the heavy side because the hides were thick and coated in a hard lacquer of some sort. But it was a nice piece, well looked after too.

"This'll do," I said trying not to sound to enthusiastic. I didn't really want to sacrifice too much protection for lightness and this was a good excuse not to, "How much?"

"Two hundred and fifty."

"No. As you said it won't fit your usual customers and there aren't any boots. The greaves are a bit flimsy too."

"You said you wanted to travel quickly. You need to move your legs freely. Two fifty or you can go elsewhere, outlander."

"These are worth about one fifty, but," I forestalled his protest, "I hear you know plenty about what's happening in this part of the world. Two hundred and you answer some questions of mine."

"Two fifty."

"Done." It was a nice bit of armour and I needed answers. Still my money bag felt rather light as I put it away.

"Thank you, if you're ever passing by and need a smith," he tipped his head, "Anyway these questions." The money had warmed him rather, I wandered how much less I could have gotten away with, but at least he was talking easier than the ones in Firewatch... I shuddered.

"A slave train passed though here," I said recovering myself, "When?"

"They came in five days ago, left two days later. Well the train did but the leader fell out with his mercenary escort so they were here until the day before yesterday drinking."

"How big was it, when it left?"

"Twenty seven slaves I think. Ten handlers, one was a mage. The rest didn't look particularly good fighters, just Dres bully boys, not that they were officially Dres of course. They were headed for Alt Bosara, I'd say they'll get there in about four days, probably to take a boat south. You wanted to travel fast, you might catch them if you're quick, or if they're waylaid. Once you've robbed it if you have any weapons to sell then come and find me. The leader was a fetcher, not that I care much. Good time for your sort I suppose."

He'd mistaken me for a robber. That suited me just fine, especially seeing as he didn't care. "Why would it be so good?" I asked.

"All these killings," he replied, "You must have heard. They'll just blame it on the witch."

"A witch?"

"Well," he said, "Don't know for certain but Telvar, he hears things, knows people. A hunter told me he saw a lone witch headed towards Stent the afternoon before it made the jump to ghost-town. There's a few other rumours too, by the look of it she's working her way south from up north. Stent, Ness, Aldram, all a bit south of the last. I know Hmaga and Illern aren't widely talked about but there were a few barns burnt and a couple of people disappeared. Her if you ask me. Anyway if I lived in Irrith I'd be making a sharp exit."

"Why?"

"Look at the way she's headed. Bad one if you ask me but Irrith is the right sort of place for her; out the way, smallish; a village. They were all that way. And I heard that someone saw her a bit east of here," he saw my blank look, "Irrith is two days south east, suppose that's good for you. The caravan will be on a different road so she won't get there first." He laughed blackly.

"No, tell me more about this. How would I get to Irrith?" It had to be Renera, maybe I could help her.

"You don't want to go there," he saw my expression, "Well, it seems a shame to waste such good armour... Take the road south, the Irrith road branches off it just out of town."

"How certain are you that she's headed that way?"

"Well my source is reliable so the signs point that way but when a mage looses it who knows? Suppose she might have some worthwhile stuff to take." he tilted his head again.

I took the armour and left. Things had been simple. Now they weren't. The caravan was weak, I could catch it and it was as good a chance as I was likely to get at rescuing Varnan. If he reached the docks... well I didn't even want to think. But Renera, for it had to be to be her, was killing innocent civilians in the local area. Only I knew what had happened, and in truth I felt somewhat responsible. The problem was of my making, so I had to sort it.

But there would not be time to rescue Varnan.

But Renera needed me. After all the years it was her.

I took a seat on a broken crate and put my face in my hands. Both were good opportunities, but I could only take one. I should save Varnan, was that not what my aim had been? I saw the sense in it but that might damn who knew how many to death if I did nothing against Renera. She had known me, I'd been the last she'd seen before... whatever happened had happened. Maybe I could bring her out of it. It's beyond your depth old man. It was true. But what was also true was that I dearly wanted to go after Renera. That only made the decision harder because I knew that going after her may be the right thing, but if I did it would be that sharp streak of self interest shining though. I would abandon Varnan.

They say they were nailed to walls and left hanging from the trees. Men, women and children. The words of rumour slipped back. I knew what I would do, perhaps I had since the first mention of it. I would go after Renera, for better or worse. I would abandon Varnan. Again. I only hoped it wasn't entirely down to my own desire to see Renera again.

***

I reached Irrith the following afternoon but didn't go into town. It was set in a hollow in dense woodland miles from anything recognisable as a road; six finger country if I ever saw it. There were about ten houses, a few women were outside gossiping as they worked while the men saw to the guar. I guessed some would be out hunting so I backed a little down the hill and skirted round the village and into the forest where I sat against a tree and continued watching. Clearly Renera hadn't been here, the question was had she passed it by or was she still to arrive. Yet again I wandered at the wisdom of trusting Telvar. It wasn't that I thought he was lying, but I wandered about his ability to tell fact from rumour.

Even so I had made my way as quickly as possible to Irrith, so it was quite possible I had arrived in time. I settled against the mossy tree trunk and took off my pack. Should I warn the inhabitants? It had certainly been my plan but looking down at them I doubted they would be any help at all. At best they would get jumpy and things would seem wrong, more likely they would panic. The vale was the perfect ambush, I could wait at the top with a perfect view and remain unseen. It was just a case of waiting until she showed up.

And then what? She might kill a few before I got down. An acceptable risk though if it meant I could catch her, and with her engaged in the chaos I would have as good a chance as any to get close enough to strike. I wasn't sure exactly what I would do, maybe seeing me would be enough. I didn't believe it though. I stood again and looked down into the Village. Children played among their mother's skirts. Men cut wood for the fires, butchered meat. A simple life. It was only later that I saw the similarity to another village; one in Cyrodiil from many years before.

I watched, and waited.

This post has been edited by Olen: Dec 19 2009, 02:46 PM