Teresa of the Faint Smile, Adventures of a Stringy Bosmer Options

[Acadian]

What fun as this ultimate heist continues! I quite enjoyed the ride to the castle and wonderful descriptions throughout. We know of Snob Alley from Teresa's wanderings, but it was nice to see it from a newcomer's view.

Nice touch showing us those detect life amulets.

‘As lovely as they were, their hard soles and heels made moving silently impossible.’
But what good is a successful mission if you don’t look good doing it? B'sides, Methie knows a muffle spell!

Neat how Methie used Fathis’ reputation with the ladies to help with her cover story.

Aww, how nice of that young goateed guard to open the hen house door to our little gray fox!

[ghastley]

"I swear they get younger and dumber every year…"

And you had a guard say that!

You're seriously risking turning the TF into the MF here. She's good at what she does.

This post has been edited by ghastley: Apr 23 2013, 06:21 PM

[haute ecole rider]

Sorry to be gone so long, but I'm caught up now!

Loved revisiting Bravil with the T&T team. And now we see Methredhel at her TG best!

I do have one nit:

She held up a mirror to the other mage's face, and watched as he turned it this way and that, taking in his now dun-colored visage.

Usually "dun" refers to a sandy-color, and I think more appropriate to an Altmer (as Ungarion is) rather than a Dunmer (as he is pretending to be). Unless you were referring to the Dun in Dunmer? To my eye, the use of this word here was a bit jarring (as dear Olen used to say).

I am eager to see how the rest of this Heist of the Fourth Era is going to play out!

[Colonel Mustard]

I'm all caught up! Really been enjoying the last couple of parts, from the banter between briefing/planning session in the Fighter's Guild to the banter between Aela and Ungarion. My favourite part of this last lot has to be Methredel actually infiltrating the castle; the whole 'dumb blonde' act she had going was great fun to read, and the guard's line about them getting younger and dumber every year made laugh. Now how is she going to deal with that Sylph, I wonder?

That was a great read, and I'm looking forward to the next part!

[McBadgere]

I object!!... ...

You write these parts as if all us men respond to the girly voice...and the hair twirling...An...And the batted eyelashes...And, like, the swayed hip thing...Not to mention the boobs thing... ...

...

...Aw dang it...

...Yeah, you're right... ...

Absolutely brilliant...From the excellently portrayed infiltration to the getting up to the tower...Fantastic stuff, could picture it all so amazingly well...

Loved the idea of the amulets...Brilliant that...

And yet another sylph!...Hell's bells, they're going to have their work cut out!...

Brilliantly amazing stuff...

Loved it!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

[Grits]

I love how Methredhel of the stone-built Imperial City feels uncomfortable on Bravil’s rickety wooden bridge. I enjoyed her observations as they rolled through Snob Alley.

Her high heels clomped on the stone floor, and now she regretted the shoes. As lovely as they were, their hard soles and heels made moving silently impossible.

I’m sure every female in castle maid uniform regrets those shoes, and not just for the clomping noise. But they all look good while they’re working!

What fun to watch Methredhel make her way into Fathis’ chambers. I suppose it’s too much to hope that Methie’s hip-and-eyelash treatment might work on the sylphs? Maybe if Chance were to climb up the wall shirtless and wink at them?

I’m enjoying Methredhel’s parts of the story so much!

[SubRosa]

Acadian: Those detect life amulets are pretty simple, but very effective. They do not even need a long range at all for someone standing guard at a door or in a hallway. Just ten feet will be more than enough to see anyone trying to sneak in or out.

I could not resist playing upon Fathis' reputation with the ladies - so delightfully created by yourself and mALX. It really makes him come alive as a character. Not to mention gives Methie something to work with!


ghastley: I could not resist the "younger and dumber" line! It just spilled out of the keyboard as I was writing. The irony of it coming from a guard is just too delicious as well. But Methie would much rather hear than that "Stop, You Violated The Law!"


haute ecole rider: Hot Collie! It is good to see you back again. I hope you are feeling better these days.

I think you are thinking of dun as in the horse color? I am using it in the definition of a greyish shade. Which I believe is where Bethesda got the idea for naming the dark elves Dunmer from.


Colonel Mustard: The character interactions throughout this have been a lot of fun to write. Especially that part between Aela and Ungarion. There is an answer to your sylph question this episode, but I do not want to give away spoilers.


McBadgere: I do not know if I would say men respond to the dumb blonde act. But I do think that many of us have been subjected to that behaviour enough times when it has not been an act, we can fall for it when it is an act.


Grits: You caught the reason for Methie's trepidation on the wooden bridge. She is accustomed to good, solid stone all around her. Immovable and impermeable.

I could never take an eight hour day walking in heels! I could when I was 20. I could play basketball in 5 inch stilettos back then. But not anymore. And walking on stone too! I prefer the nice, carpeted walk from the living room to the bedroom...

At the image of Chance climbing shirtless through the window. If Bravil had a countess that might work!


Previously On Teresa Of The Faint Smile: Our last episode found Methredhel and Mael making their way to the castle on the brewery wagon, disguised as workers making a delivery to the castle. Methie slipped away as they unloaded the wagon, used a closet to make a quick change into her maid uniform, and has made her way to through the castle and into the count's private apartments.


Chapter 46.6 – Methredhel's Eleven

Methredhel stepped into the count's apartments, and heard the door creak shut behind her. She had to restrain a gasp when she gazed upon the wealth so casually displayed around her. The floor was of marble rather than stone or wood. The walls were paneled with gleaming mahogany, and small tables displayed statuettes made of lustrous ebony and meteoric glass. Portraits which she imagined might be just as valuable graced the walls, and small crystal chandeliers holding glowstones added their soft light to the space. It was all she could do to keep from grabbing the first shiny thing and running.

The clicking of footsteps came from one of several side rooms off the main chamber. Methredhel followed the sound and found a middle-aged maid pouring water into a gleaming copper bath that was built into the floor. Figurines of leaping dolphins and mermaids rose from the edges of the basin, and a golden-paneled chute stood open on the floor next to it, revealing a space directly beneath the tub. Methredhel could see brightly glowing heatstones spread out within, creating a small furnace under the copper basin.

"Livia," Methredhel said as the maid turned her lined face to her. "Domitilla asked me to come find you. She wants you to meet her downstairs and help her with the Saturalia invitations."

"Invitations?" the older woman's eyes narrowed as Methredhel stepped closer. "Those were sent out yesterday. Who are you anyway?"

Methredhel coolly stepped past the other woman, and gazed down into the tub. At least it was already full, she thought. That would save her the trouble of doing the work herself.

A quick glance about revealed no telltale signs of the sylph, such as things blowing in a nonexistent breeze. She thanked Nocturnal for that small blessing. At least she would not have to use the banishment dagger Aela had provided her with. With any luck it had orders to only patrol the hallway outside. Given that many Imperials had no liking for magic, it would not surprise Methredhel if the count did not want one of his wizard's pets lurking about him in private.

Still, there was the maid to deal with. Methredhel's heart doubled its pace as she reached down into the front of her skirts with one hand, out of the other woman's sight. She produced a small scroll, and shook it open.

"Sleep," she hissed as she turned to face the maid. The scroll fell to dust, and a spiral of red light leaped from the thief's fingers. It ground down into the older woman, and she collapsed into Methredhel's ready arms. The silver pitcher Livia had held clattered to the floor however, splattering leftover drops of water across the marble.

Nocturnal's black boobs! Methredhel silently cursed. She was going to pay for that. Dragging the other woman's body across the room as quickly as she could, she stuffed her into a laundry closet. She had just shut the door behind he when a voice rang out from the open doorway behind her.

"What was that?"

Methredhel turned to see a young man standing there. He was clad in black and red velvet, and the skin of his face looked as soft and smooth as silk. He looked at her with deep brown eyes, and brushed away an errant lock of long black hair from his finely molded features. He was young, but Methredhel imagined with a few years, he would have little trouble turning most women's thighs to butter. Her own included.

"Oh, I thought Livia was in here," he said. "Everything all right?"

"Oh yes," Methredhel said. "I just dropped the pitcher. I'm as clumsy as an ogre sometimes."

"Do not say that." The page walked across the room with his eyes fixed upon Methredhel's breasts. "You're as graceful as a Dibella herself, a living work of art."

"Oh, you flatter me sir," Methredhel batted her eyes and shyly looked away.

"It is not flattery when it is true." The page stood just inches away. He reached down for the closet door. But Methredhel was quicker, and clamped her fingers around its golden knob first. "Let me help you with that."

"That is alright," she breathed as his fingers softly caressed her skin. He edged closer, just enough so that his chest brushed ever so slightly against her breasts. She felt his other hand fall to her waist, and Methredhel closed her eyes.

He's too young! Much too young. Far, far too young.

But Dibella, was his skin soft and warm! She breathed deeply, taking in his scent, and felt his velvet-clad body against hers. It took every ounce of her willpower to keep from lifting her lips to his own.

Instead she opened her eyes and sighed. She raised her free hand, and gently pushed him away.

"The count," she whispered. "He could walk in any moment."

"You're right," he breathed huskily. She stared at his opened tunic and the finely chiseled muscles of his chest. Damn, he was put together like White Gold Tower, she marveled. How come no one in the Thieves Guild had a body like that?

"Perhaps later, we might spend some time to get to know one another?"

"Oh yes," Methredhel practically gushed. "Flavius? you must be Flavius, you don't look like a Jirolin."

"Flavius Carbo it is indeed," his eyes twinkled as they stared deeply into hers, "at your service. Jirolin has the day off. And you are?"

"Oh Flavius!" Methredhel put on an expression of surprise. "I was supposed to find you. The count wanted you to go downstairs and tell his cook to change breakfast."

"He did?" the young man said. "But he said nothing when I saw him but a moment ago?"

"Oh, you know how he is," Methredhel did not have to act to show how flustered she felt. "I mean, after all, you've been working here longer than I have."

"Aye, indeed," the young man nodded. "What does he want?"

"Umm, eggs and partridge breasts." Methredhel looked up as if straining to remember.

"Really, he has never had eggs before?" Flavius wondered aloud.

"I know, that's what surprised me too!" Methredhel exclaimed. "He said he wants something different."

"Well then, I shall be off on your quest my lady." The handsome youth strutted to the door. "Until we meet again."

Methredhel did not dare to breathe again until the sound of the door shutting came to her elfin ears. She turned back to the closet and slid the door open. Working quickly, she bound the unconscious maid's hands and feet, and stuffed a gag into her mouth. She was not sure how long the effects of the stamina draining scroll would last, but she was not going to take chances.

She had just shut the door when the count himself walked in, wearing nothing but a silken robe, and holding a wine goblet in one hand. As Kud-Ei had warned, the middle-aged Imperial's black sword was belted around his waist. Methredhel stared at the artifact. Unlike ebony, it did not gleam in the light. Rather its entire surface was a dull, flat shade of black. It seemed to devour all light cast upon it, rather than reflecting even a glimmer of it back.

"Where did Livia go?" Count Terentius scowled as he stepped to the bath.

"She was summoned downstairs." Methredhel curtsied gracefully, and silently thanked Kud-Ei for forcing her to practice the maneuver for over an hour the night before. "Domitilla sent me to serve you my lord."

"Well, get on with it then." The flabby Imperial held out the gem-encrusted goblet with one hand, and Methredhel raced forward to take it from his fingers. Holding the golden vessel in her hands, Methredhel stared at the rubies and sapphires that dotted its curved basin. By Nocturnal, she could feed the entire Chamber Pot with the money from this!

The count unbelted his sword, and gently, almost lovingly, laid it and its scabbard down beside the bath. Then his hands worked his belt free and he held his arms out wide. Methredhel stared at him for a moment, then quickly stepped closer and drew the soft material from his body. The Imperial stood with his back to her, and Methredhel noted that while his body was weighed down with flab, there was still plenty of hard muscle underneath it. The thief recognized the scar of a dagger thrust low in his back, near the kidneys. The memory of wide gash wrapped around one of his thighs, and an old burn marred a shoulder blade.

"Before he fell into a wine bucket, he was a questing knight and tournament champion." Teresa had said of the count. What happened to you? Methredhel wondered as the Imperial stepped into the steaming water of the tub. What made you let yourself go? Was it just age and world-weariness? Or was it something darker?

Her green eyes flickered to the dull black sword just a few feet away. Now she remembered what Kud-Ei had said the previous day when the Argonian had handed her the negation gauntlets: "If the sword is indeed cursed, they will prevent it from forming a link to these one's spirits." Is that what ruined you Terentius? Was it Mannimarco's vengeance? If Soul's Rattle was indeed one of the Dead Lord's artifacts, what would possessing it do to a person? What would years of having the King of Worm's energy seeping into you do?

"What are you still doing here?"

The count's abrasive tone snapped Methredhel out of her reverie. "My apologies my lord," she said softly. Even though his back was to her, she curtsied once more, then turned to leave.

"I didn't say take the wine with you," the Nibenean's voice seethed with exasperation.

"Yes my lord," Methredhel's tongue fumbled. "Umm, I mean no my lord."

Reaching into her skirts once more, she drew forth a small vial and upended its contents into the goblet. Giving it a gentle swish to mix the contents with the red liquid, she turned back to face the count and stepped up beside the tub. Without a word, she bent at the waist and set the goblet down beside his hand. Then she quickly retreated from the room, and stopped just beyond the door.

Peeking around the corner, she waited for him to take a sip from the golden cup. It only took a few seconds for his head to slump forward after that, and the goblet to slip from his nerveless fingers and clatter onto the marble floor. Methredhel smiled and strutted back into the room. Then she saw that the middle-aged man was still tottering forward, and her feet exploded into motion.

She felt her hose run as she slid across the tile and reached out for the count's hair. Just before his face could fall into the water, her fingers clutched tightly upon his scalp. Pulling with all of her might, she dragged him back. It took every ounce of muscle the Bosmer could muster, but in the end she was able to pull his torso from the tub, and splay him out upon his back on the floor.

That was close, Methredhel sighed. He had nearly drowned! While she doubted that anyone would weep at his passing, the last thing she wanted was a murder investigation leveled at her. The Imperial Legion became irate when you stole from rich people. But a cross waited for any plebeian who killed a patrician.

Drawing forth the negation gauntlets from one of the new pockets in her chemise, Methredhel slid the soft material upon her hands. Taking a deep breath, she reached down and picked up Soul's Rattle. She nearly yelped and dropped the sword a moment later. She could have sworn that it had moved under her fingers. Not shifted in her hands, but actually moved of its own accord!

Eyeing the enchanted blade closely, Methredhel waited until she was certain it was not going to move again. She had heard bard's tales of swords that leaped from their sheaths on their own, and could fly about killing people. She had never imagined they might be true. But then again, she had never seen an artifact of a necromantic god either.

Swallowing hard, the Bosmer thief gathered up her courage and once more lifted the blade in her hands. It seemed heavy, as if she was lifting a living being in her arms, rather than a thin sliver of metal. Being careful to hold it away from her body, she darted from the room with a clatter of heels.

That meant her Muffle spell had worn off, she thought abstractedly. She would have to cast it again before she left, just to be careful. Keeping her mind on such minute details of the job - rather than thinking about the dark weapon in her hands - Methredhel found the count's privy.

Just as Kud-Ei had said, it was marble, with only a small opening within the raised wishbone where one would sit. An elegantly curved glass carafe sat on one side of the bench, filled with a soft amber liquid. The smell of fresh flowers wafted up from the container, which Methredhel's nose was thankful for. She shuddered to think of what it was like for Teresa, far down below in the sewer.

Drawing forth a small, black pouch from one of the myriad pockets in her chemise, Methredhel slid a bright glowstone from its depths. Next came a handful of twine, which she used to quickly tie the glowing crystal to the scabbard of the black sword. When she was finally satisfied that the glowstone was firmly secured, she held the sword out vertically over the toilet. Without a second thought she let go, and watched the cursed weapon vanish into the inky depths below.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Apr 29 2013, 05:01 PM

[Acadian]

I like how scrolls are the non-mage’s path to wizardy things! You use them to excellent effect in TF at just the right times.

‘Nocturnal's black boobs! Methredhel silently cursed.’
How delightfully TESish and, well, just plain delightful! A welcome giggle in a tense scene!

‘Methredhel curtsied gracefully, and silently thanked Kud-Ei for forcing her to practice the maneuver for over an hour the night before.’
It does take some practice, and I’m sure it was a new skill for Methie! We’re reminded how out of her element our thief is. She was nearly distracted by the overtly displayed and costly trappings of wealth, and that she actually was distracted by the flirtations of Flavius!

‘But a cross waited for any plebeian who killed a patrician.’
Wonderful reference to the practice of crucifixion and, that in Teresa’s world, the station and class of the victim could greatly magnify the crime. Whew, almost lost Count Pompousness there!

And the evil prize is flushed down to Teresa! Now, Methie just needs to smoothly make her own escape.

[haute ecole rider]

What a wonderful continuation of this latest episode! I loved how Methie has to deal with one unexpected thing after another, and do so without becoming too flustered and panicked. Though for a moment I thought that Flavius Carbo was going to be the end of her! Why do those guys always show up at the most inconvenient times??

I was referring to the greyish-brown color that is actually not limited to the description of horse color. It is also used when describing sandstone and deserts of a certain color as well. That's why I kind of asked about your word choice here - if you were describing Ungarion as having more of a bluish-grey color, that's not what comes to mind when I think of "dun." As a matter of fact, some Altmer are rather donnish in their complexion. Not sure where Beth came up with the prefix of "Dun-" when they named the Dark Elves. Not that you're wrong or anything, it's just that your usage of "dun" seems to contradict what I typically think of it as.

[ghastley]

When you described Methie dropping the sword down the privy, I thought "I hope it's not point-first, if Teresa's down there" but then it crossed my mind that she'd be avoiding other things coming down anyway. Tying a glow-stone onto it was a great idea. Warning beacon, as well as a homing one.

Now she has to get out, past all the people she sent on wild goose chases, who are probably on their way back. Could be fun!

I've been beaten to it on dun. It's a shade of brown for me too. There's a british bird called the dunnock, which is described as being devoid of any distinguishing markings, and just a plain dun colour. It's grey-brown.

This post has been edited by ghastley: Apr 30 2013, 03:21 AM

[mALX]

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First off, I am so sorry it took so long to get back here to read.

45.6:

Your scene setting in this is so subtly worked in but gives the reader everything they need to know about what is going on, as if we walked into the room and saw it with our own eyes. I'd love to be able to emulate the natural feel of your scene setting! Awesome!

One of the things I love most about this chapter is the Lore you've woven into your own world building. The familiars like the Crypt of Hearts meshes perfectly and is a stroke of genius that makes me want to hunt for that bowing down emoticon. I am loving where you are taking your story!

Also love that the Fighters Guild is paired with the Mages Guild for an enemy of this magnitude - realistic. The infighting and elitism between the guilds takes a step back when a major threat is imminent, and them not agreeing on how to handle each bit of information they come across is so perfect and apt! I absolutely LOVE what you are doing with this story!

Still catching up, will be back.


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[mALX]

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EDIT:

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46.1:

I've always loved your characterization of Methredhel, you have made me like her in game.

WOO HOO! Aela! I loved her/his character !!! Very pretty, just exactly like I pictured Aela!

46.2:

It suddenly struck me what Teresa's plan may be here, reading to find out...

I absolutely LOVED this chapter! Aela is one of my favorite characters in TF, there are so many you have brought to life and/or created that I love. I have to quote this entire section just for its awesomeness:

No doubt permanently bound too," Aela said. "Fathis Aren may be a womanizer, but he's no fool when it comes to his magic."

"Could you make us a scroll to dispel it?" Teresa asked.

"Nay," Aela stated flatly. "That would work on a creature summoned by another scroll, but not one summoned by a living, breathing mage. Magic is all about will. There is no willpower in a scroll. It is separated from its creator. So its effects are easily negated. Only a stronger mage can dispel a direct summoning."

"Could you do it?" Methredhel asked. She looked down from the keep to the Breton.

"I can do more than just dispel her," Aela said. "I can take control of her. But Fathis will instantly feel it when I break his bond with the sylph, and he will call out the guard."

Teresa whistled. "I didn't know anyone could do that."

"I am an ardhanari," Aela said, "or gallae, semnotatoi, enaree… Whatever race's word you like for a two-spirit magician. I can do things few others can."

Your world-building in this story has me totally floored, I am so in love with this story!

Still catching up, sorry it is taking so long.


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This post has been edited by mALX: May 1 2013, 10:22 PM

[mALX]

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46.3:

Fathis Aren is going to go nuts seeing pretty girls strutting around in those gorgeous maid outfits, ROFL!

Mael being considered one of the trusted really makes me nervous, I don't know him well enough to trust him yet, (not that I count in the equation, lol).

In any case, you would be seen through the walls by the life detection amulets the guardsmen wear."

This is as real as it gets, in a land of magic there is no way the Counts would not have their guards fully equipped to watch what is going on so sneaky types can't pass them in chameleon - you think of everything in a way that the reader automatically realizes it is the way it should be - Awesome!

"That's going to be a lot of people for Aela and I to overpower." Mael stroked his chin thoughtfully. "A few might escape in the confusion, or raise an alarm."

See? He is already planning to let the ones he is in cahoots with escape! ARGH! I don't trust this man!

This chapter absolutely ranks up in my favorite Teresa chapters, you are drawing all your forces into one place for this mission, making it as exciting if not more so than your tourney! Love, love, LOVE where you are taking this story! Awesome Write!

Not caught up yet, still reading.


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[mALX]

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46.4

Love the open friendship and trust between Aela and Ungarion here, very reminiscent of Freddie Mercury and Mary Austin, love at its purest.

"How do I look?"

"Like a dark elf," Aela declared with satisfaction. She held up a mirror to the other mage's face, and watched as he turned it this way and that, taking in his now dun-colored visage. The Altmer touched his hair. Where once it had been a mane of deep red, the elf's locks were now jet black and peppered with grey. He took the time to carefully arrange every strand, emphasizing his widows peak even more.

The "dun -colored" visage was explained before the description, it was really clear what you were going for here, especially in the context of the paragraph around it and the realm in which it was written within and about.

I LOVE that they are using disguises here, that really ramps up the excitement of this whole mission even more if that is possible! Add this chapter to another of my all time favorites, and put it high on the list! Absolutely stunning storyline and writing, it felt like I'd known Aela and Ungarion and their history personally - you did an EXCELLENT job with setting the feeling between them. Awesome, AWESOME Write !!!!


2 more chapters and I'll be caught up! WOO HOO!


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This post has been edited by mALX: May 1 2013, 11:17 PM

[mALX]

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46.5

"Oh, this is my first day," Methredhel said in as innocent and naive a voice as she could muster. "My friend Fathis got me this job, and I want to make a good impression. But it's so hard to find everything. I got lost twice coming up here!"

The guardsman rolled his eyes, and Methredhel had to resist the urge to smile as she went on. "Well Fathis - he said if I worked up here - I could service him directly. If you know what I mean. Isn't he just dreamy?"

"Hrmmph," the city guardsman sighed. He pointed down the elegantly apportioned hall to the nearest door. "The court wizard's apartments are right there."

SPEW! When in doubt, claim needing to have sex with Fathis! ROFL !!! I LOVED this!

This chapter was too short! Reading on, lol.


46.6:

Looks like Flavius Carbo is giving Fathis a run for his Septims with the maids, ROFL !!! Methredhel should have taken care of her business before going on this mission, her focus is too easily distracted, lol.

I was holding my breath the entire time Methredhel was with the Count - WHEW! Awesome write, AWESOME Story - and can't wait to see what happens next !!!


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[McBadgere]

^ Someone's been busy... ...

Aaaamywho...

Brilliant episode, loved it!!...

Bit worried if yer going to follow the laws of story convention with Methredhel here... ...(Have you got to that bit with Marcus and Ivanova on B4 yet? you know/remember what I mean? )...

Fantastic writing, as ever...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

[Grits]

Well, the color discussion has been dun already, so…

It was all she could do to keep from grabbing the first shiny thing and running.
I love it!

Good grief, Methredhel was very distracted by the hot page! It makes perfect sense that he would assume any new maid was a tramp, given Fathis’ reputation. And Methie being already a little hot under the skirt tells me that she enjoys her exciting job!

That was close, Methredhel sighed. He had nearly drowned! While she doubted that anyone would weep at his passing, the last thing she wanted was a murder investigation leveled at her. The Imperial Legion became irate when you stole from rich people. But a cross waited for any plebeian who killed a patrician.
I love this paragraph! Very exciting, and a reminder of how high the stakes are when messing with nobility.

I just love that she tied a glowstone to a cursed artifact and then dropped it down the privy.

Now there are a couple of unconscious bodies on the floor and a horny page wandering around, and I’m getting nervous about Methie’s escape!

[SubRosa]

Acadian: If only I used scrolls in the game to such good effect! I always forget them when I am playing. But when I am writing - and have time to think - they strike me as a great way for non-magicians to accomplish specific tasks in their missions quests.

Curtseying is a lot harder than it looks! I remember when I tried to learn it. It is even worse when you are wearing heels!

The count's near death was another opportunity for me to reinforce the differences between social ranks in the TF. We have not seen it for a while. I also wanted yet one more danger for Methie to face. Plus of course the irony of actually having to save who might be the hated man in Bravil was just too delicious to pass up.


haute ecole rider: I wanted a good mix of obstacles and unforeseen issues for Methredhel to face in the count's quarters. From direct confrontations to more indirect problems. Flavius Carbo created a wonderful conflict for Methie - and her teenage hormones (she is only a year older than Teresa, 19). I had fun writing her battle against her ovaries.


ghastley: Hold on to that thought about Methie dropping the sword! As you noted, the glowstone is to act as both a warning to get out of the way when the sword is on the way down, and a helpful way to find it in the dark.


mALX: I was very glad that I was able to pull so much out of the existing Bethesda lore for the background on Soul's Rattle and the necros who are hunting for it. It all wound up tying together very well, which I hope makes the story a little more accessible - or at least familiar - to those who have played not only Oblivion, but also the earlier games.

I have to thank you for my characterization of Fathis as a hound. Thanks to you, I just cannot imagine him any other way.

Hold on to that suspicion of Mael, it may be justified...

Wow, Freddie Mercury and Mary Austin really hits it perfectly! They may have both moved on to other lovers, but both Ungarion and Aela still have that same deep bond between them.

I guess Methie should have brought that horker tusk with her after all...


McBadgere: Fear not, Methie has not fallen in love with anyone. At least not yet. So no dashing young men have to die because of her!


Grits: Picturing a street rat like Methie surrounded by all that wealth, it had to be like an alcoholic in a brewery. There must be an overpowering urge to just grab and take it all! OTOH, I always get nervous when I am around displays of wealth. I am always afraid I am going to break something. Except for technology. I am never afraid of breaking a million dollar server. Sometimes I actually want to kick them!

I would not go so far as to say that Flavius assumes the hot young maids are tramps, as to say that like all men, his penis has a mind of its own...

I decided to skip over Methies escape from the castle, as it felt anti-climatic after everything she went through in the count's chambers. Suffice to say, she slips out like the expert thief that she is.


Previously On Teresa Of The Faint Smile: Our last episode found Methredhel facing one challenge after another in the count's private chambers. She was forced to knock out another maid with a scroll and hide her in a closet. Then tricked a hot young page into leaving to change the count's breakfast. Then of course she not only had to poison the count's wine with a sleeping potion, but also had to rescue him from drowning in his tub. Finally, she was able to get hold of his sword and drop it down the privy to the sewer below.


Chapter 46.7 – Methredhel's Eleven

Teresa waited on one of the small, stone ledges that flanked the sewer tunnel. Her night eye goggles were strapped around her head. Otherwise she could not have seen her hand in front of her face in the lightless passages underneath the castle. Still, she was not entirely thankful for the illumination they provided. For that just made it all the easier to see the unwholesome liquid that floated alongside her. It was bad enough just smelling it, even with the vanilla and lavender-soaked facemask she had prepared ahead of time. She was even more thankful for the Jewel of the Rumare, for it had kept her dry while swimming through the effluvium. She could still taste it however, where the water, and other things, had touched her lips.

The Bosmer archer could not help but remember the last time she had waded through a sewer. It had been less than a year ago, shortly after the death of the Emperor. As it often did, her throat constricted at the thought of the old man. She had come so far since then. But he was always there waiting in mind, watching.

Teresa hoped that she had made him proud.

Leaning out over the water channel, Teresa glanced up into the shaft above. She thought she saw a light appear. The forester hoped that was Methredhel. Assuming she was under the right privy. Teresa took a step back, lest the count's falling sword cave her skull in. It was not the necromantic artifact that came raining down in front of her however, but rather a barrage of brown excrement. The stomach-churning bombardment splashed the water high up all around, washing Teresa with bilge.

The Bosmer closed her eyes and winced. Once again she as thankful for the protection of the Jewel of the Rumare. She vowed that next time Methredhel was going into the sewer, while she sneaked into the fortress over it!

A very loud splash came to Teresa's elfin ears, along with a flash of light from outside of her field of view. Teresa' head spun, and she saw a bright glow of light reaching up from under the water just a dozen paces behind her. The waves above it leaped and roiled from an impact more substantial than the normal discharges she had witnessed since arriving in the sewer, sending them spilling across the narrow stone walkways to either side of the drainage channel.

Praying to Nocturnal that this was indeed Soul's Rattle, the Bosmer pulled the negation gloves onto her hands and raced forward. Gritting her teeth, Teresa dove into the muck and swam down. Doing her best to ignore the flotsam and jetsam that floated past, she reached the bottom of the waterway and cast about for whatever had fallen from the privy above.

There it was, a long dark shape against the grey stone of the canal. The bright spot of light from the glowstone hurt Teresa's eyes as she neared it. Thanks to that she could not make out any details except for the basic outline of the sword. She reached down with one hand and clapped it around the scabbard. Lifting it up, she was surprised at how heavy it felt. Most swords weighed no more than a few pounds. But this felt somehow more substantial than them, as if she was lifting more than just steel.

The blade shifted under her hand, seemingly of its own accord. Teresa saw it sliding out of its sheath, and reached out with her free hand to take the grip. She felt - something - squirm under her fingers. Not the sword, but something else. Something soft, like flesh.

Looking down, she saw a woman laying on the green velvet carpet of the bedroom floor. It was Pompeia. Teresa did not understand how she knew the Imperial woman's name. She simply did. Just as she knew that they had been married for nearly two decades. Even after all that time, and all the arguments, Teresa could not imagine any woman in the world being more beautiful.

Yet that beauty was fragile, as all mortal beauty was. It was stained red with her life blood, which poured out onto the floor. Teresa reached out with one of her hands to stroke Pompeia's long black hair. She noted that it was not her arm and hand, but rather that of a man, thick with dark hair and muscle. Teresa's other hand took hold of the black sword that was buried in her chest. She knew that it was the only thing holding the wound even partially closed. If she pulled it out, Pompeia would drown in her own blood.

Teresa's hand shook, and she heard a cry rip through her throat.

"Healer!" a man's deep voice screamed raggedly. "Send for a healer!"

But looking down into Pompeia's eyes, Teresa could see that it was already far too late. The light in them faded, and went cold.

Then she felt her. Not in the still flesh stretched out on the floor. But within the grip of the terrible blade that had taken Pompeia's life. It felt warm now, as if it was filled with her love, with her anger, with her laughter, and with her tears. A whispering came to her ears, just loud enough to hear, but not enough for Teresa to make out the words. All that she could tell for certain, was that it was Pompeia…

Teresa gasped, and dropped the sword with both hands. As soon as she let go of the grip the vision was gone, and she was herself again. The Bosmer shook like a leaf, and stared at the sword below her. Now she knew why Count Terentius was a drunkard, and why he could not rid himself of the very cursed blade that had taken the life of his beloved. It was all he had left of her.

* * *

Aela watched the street outside. By now Riverwalk was busy with pedestrians going this way and that, as well as wagons and carts loaded down with goods from the docks, which lay just beyond the avenue. A glance back showed that Ungarion still waited at the back door, just in case anyone tried to enter that way. Chance stood near the stable door, to make sure no one escaped. She hoped that no one tried. They had already laid out over a dozen workers and locked them inside. From the banging she occasionally heard, some of them were once again awake.

Methredhel had better return soon, she mused, else this was going to go to Oblivion. The three of them could not keep the workers locked in forever, and guard all the doors. Not without killing someone.

Her heart leaped as she looked back into the street and saw Teresa standing there. The wood elf was clad in simple threadbare clothing, and wore a scowl deeper than the Niben. Yet when the Bosmer's eyes locked upon her own, she managed a faint smile. The archer raised one hand with her thumb up, and Aela did the same in return.

"Jalbert, Soul's Rattle is ours." Aela did not try to soften her voice as she usually did. Rather she let its full - distinctly male - resonance pour from her lungs. "They should return momentarily."

"Excellent," Chance replied loudly, doing his best to deepen his voice and sound different from normal as well. "All is going according to plan. Drels, you had better return to the castle before those fools realize that you have been gone."

"I'll wager that idiot that calls himself a count will even believe that it was the Renrijra Krin who stole his sword!" Ungarion laughed in voice as harsh and rough as Red Mountain. He vanished through the back door, slamming it hard enough behind him that the workers were certain to hear.

Aela saw the brewery wagon pull up in front of the building, with Methredhel and Mael sitting in its cab. Quickly opening the double doors that faced Riverwalk, she stepped aside while the Breton clucked the horses forward. A glance across the street revealed Commander Vitellus and Vice-Commander Tadrose. Both wore ordinary clothing, but carried their swords. They looked back at her and nodded.

As soon as the wagon was safely within the building, Aela slammed the doors shut. She did not lock them however. Along with Chance and Ungarion, she walked over to meet Mael and Methredhel as they climbed down to the floor.

"I just got the signal that we have it," Aela whispered to the newcomers. "We are ready for the next part."

"We saw her too, on the way over," Methredhel whispered back. Then she turned to Mael, and gestured toward the back door. The two of them opened it silently, and vanished into the alley beyond.

Aela waited, looking from the door to Chance, and back to the front door. A loud pounding rang out upon it. Aela ignored it, and the hammering only grew more insistent.

"Open up!" Vitellus' voice rang out from the street. "We know you're open. We just saw a wagon go in!"

"We're closed!" Aela yelled back, in the deepest, most masculine voice she could muster. A racket erupted from the stable, as the workers began pounding upon their side of the door. She heard them yell out, voices muffled from the wooden barrier, but still quite audible.

"Hey, who are you?" the Colovian's voice roared through the door. "You don't work here!"

With that one of the front doors came crashing open under a pair of boots. Pappy and Tadrose stood there, swords in hand.

"Fighters Guild!" Commander Vitellus shouted, "to action!"

Aela spiked a hand into the air and released her magicka. With a whooshing sound, a sylph formed in the space before her. Chance pulled out a scroll, and with a single word sent a bolt of lightning from it to the stone floor between him and the other two mercenaries. The two fighters shouted and struck the flats of their swords against one another, creating a loud clattering of steel.

"It's a skeleton!" Tadrose yelled out loudly. "I've got it!"

"Those necromancers are mine!" Commander Vitellus bellowed.

Aela fixed the symbol for her Flare spell in her mind, and pointed her hand to the floor. With a crackle of flame, it extinguished harmlessly upon the stones. The two horses kicked and neighed wildly though, and Chance was forced to back up lest he find a hoof in his skull. He walked to the back door, where Aela joined him.

In the meantime, the two mercenaries walked to the door of the stable, giving the excited horses a wide berth. Again, they clattered their swords together in a loud cacophony of metal.

"They're sending the skeletons after the civilians!" Tadrose shouted.

"We've got to save them!" Vitellus yelled in reply. "Blast it! We'll get the necromancers next time."

Aela grinned, and dispelled her sylph. Reaching into one of her pockets, she drew forth a potion and gulped it down. Her hand vanished from view, as did the rest of her body. Drawing off her mask and robe, she walked out the back door. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Chance vanish as well. Without a word, she trotted down the alley, and headed for the Fighters Guild.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Oct 26 2013, 04:35 AM

[mALX]

The Bosmer archer could not help but remember the last time she had waded through a sewer. It had been less than a year ago, shortly after the death of the Emperor. As it often did, her throat constricted at the thought of the old man. She had come so far since then. But he was always there waiting in mind, watching.

Teresa hoped that she had made him proud.

My own throat constricted remembering how his death affected and effected her. She has come a tremendously long way since then, we all have a share in being proud of her.


Oh hell, the blade is possessed with souls! Urk! Now what?

HOLY CRAP! Everything is going haywire! GAAAAAH! For the gods sake don't give that sword to Mael! Urk!

GAAAAAAH! Cliffhanger! It can't end there! MORE! MORE I SAY! Urk. Awesome, AWESOME Story! Your writing always is outstanding, but you have excelled even your own standards with this storyline - Awesome Write!


*

[Acadian]

What a crappy job poor Teresa had. Both literally and spiritually. That cursed sword certainly lives up to its name. Some chillingly disturbing images Teresa endured as she wrestled with it! Since Aela subsequently saw Teresa and even got a signal from her, I’m assuming little Red did manage to fully get custody of the slithery weapon.

Then we see the next part of the plan put into effect – all for the benefit of the locked away brewery stable folks. And a fine ‘cover story’ it appears to be. I imagine when the brewery captives are freed, the stories of what they heard will do a nice job of blaming necrodudes for the theft, implicating Drels, sharing the name of ringleader Jalbert and making Pappy’s crew seem like the heroes they are! And, being a brewery, naturally Pappy is first to kick in the door! Bards will soon sing about the Legendary Savior of Samaia Adamus routing the necromancers. All in all, not a bad day’s work it seems.

I’ll be nervous though until I know that sword is far away from Teresa and, hopefully, properly destroyed.

Nit: ‘They looked back {at, to, toward?} her and nodded.’