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

[Olen]

Now that was interesting, it's the first time Vols and Simplicia have come into contact since the crisis and you handled it brilliantly. Very believable and there's mystery there, as far as I recall Simplicia has never thought much about Vols (other than him being another legionary). So Dreth is going to get it... again. He should run away to Akavir to escape Teresa and her friends.

Simplicia did a good job getting everyone to do what she wanted. She's cleverer than she thought, it makes me wonder if she'll realise how much more she could do.

Great characters, I really want to know what happens next.

[Destri Melarg]

You ability to play on the subtext of a chapter is really highlighted in these paragraphs. Even though we don’t see it, we can feel the grudging respect that Simplicia has gained for Methredhel (one gets the impression that the continued insults were a way to mask that respect). We can also feel the impulse within Volsinius that makes him want to do right by Brekke as a way to make amends for his earlier treatment of Teresa. That impulse is later mirrored when Simplicia’s voice draws him into a particularly effective remembrance of times past.

I love the fact that Simplicia uses Methredhel as her eyes and Volsinius as her arms to insure her continued employment at Jensine’s. One is left almost feeling sorry for Valen Dreth!

[Acadian]

Another great installment of Simplicia's mystery-solving. It is a joy to watch Simplica grow - or perhaps just display what was formerly hidden by the squalor of her previous existence. We've known of her heart, but she now shows quite the head on her old shoulders.

This episode was a wonderful example of presenting your priority of focusing on your characters, while still moving your plot along nicely.

"You look fine. A perfect example of young, virginal womanhood. There, you happy now? Now show me the fetching book."

This is simply masterful! Bravo, SubRosa!

A few months ago he never would have imagined himself eating dinner with a street urchin, let alone enjoying it. Was this how Teresa made Simplicia feel? he wondered. Was that why she had sacrificed so much for that little Bosmer girl?

Similarly, this says so much about Vols - and Simplicia and Teresa.


Nit?
'Simplicia hissed in tone too low to carry beyond the aisle.'
I'm not positive this is a nit, but take a look at tone. I would think you meant 'tones' or 'a tone'. You might even consider: 'Simplicia hissed, her tone to low to carry beyond the aisle.'

[Thomas Kaira]

So, what is going to happen in that graveyard... what oh what?

Looks like it's time for Volsinius to confront past demons.

The tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife...




This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: Dec 11 2010, 02:56 AM

[mALX]

Awesome Write, SubRosa !!! The depth you write into your characters is breathtaking !!!

mALX: I always thought laughter was a better birth control.

Nah, you can certainly get pregnant while laughing. Happens all the time !!


*


This post has been edited by mALX: Dec 10 2010, 11:34 PM

[SubRosa]

hazmick: That line was inspired by the LOTR movies! I gave them a watch about three weeks ago. Probably my twelfth time. "I don't think he knows about second breakfast..."

Rest assured, no more cuddly Vols for this chapter! As Dreth will likely lament!


Olen: Rest assured that Vols is not just another legionary to Simplicia. He is the one who smacked her little girl! That reminds me, I need to put in a scene somewhere between Teresa and Simplicia talking about him.

Simplicia is indeed the spider in the web this chapter. Everything that happens here is driven by her. It is not all pure manipulative genius however. She knows her limitations, and so is not about to try picking locks or getting into battles. That is what youngins are for.


Destri Melarg: And the insults and baiting go both ways! After all, Methie did not have to put in that dig about the Copious Coinpurse. It says a bit about how both of their views toward one another are changing.


Acadian: Indeed, we are seeing exactly what Simplicia is made of this chapter. Imagine what she was like as a twenty-something hottie? It is no wonder Vols lost his head over her.

And I see you focused in on that little rumination of Vols when he considers the relationship between Simplicia and Teresa, and begins to see how rewarding it truly is.

Quite right about the tone, as usual.


Thomas Kaira: One graveyard coming up. Vols probably is not going to comfort past demons though. (sorry, I could not resist the voice of Sir Rugrat there...)


mALX: Depth of characters is certainly what I am going for, over everything else.


Next: Simplicia enlisted Volsinius to her cause in the previous episode. Next he sets out for the final confrontation with Valen Dreth.


Chapter 25.6 – Unfriendly Competition

The sun was lowering on the horizon when Volsinius marched through the massive gatehouse that squatted over the western edge of the city's outer wall. The legionaries snapped to attention as he came near, even though he still wore only his tunic. He nodded in return. Everyone in the Fifth seemed to know who he was now. Ever since the High Chancellor had placed the Grass Crown upon his head it had been that way.

The smell of horse manure was strong in his nose as he followed the road past the collection of barns and other wooden buildings that made up Chestnut Handy Stable. Folk of all races still walked back and forth inside the fence that surrounded the livery. Some led horses, others brushed them down, or carried bales of hay and bags of grain, or performed numerous other chores. In the corrals that dotted the land beyond the buildings he saw prancing Friesans, gliding Nibenean Walkers, stocky Quarter Horses, short-backed Morgani, and horses of many other breeds ambling to and fro.

Volsinius paid the horses and their caretakers little note however, and continued on his way. Before him the ground sloped down to the lake, where the great western bridge crossed its gentle waves. He turned off the road to the right and made his way across a smaller cobblestoned path that hugged the western edge of the horse pastures.

Finally leaving the livery behind, Volsinius found a low stone wall before him, pierced by an iron gate directly ahead. Reaching out to the bars that formed its double doors, he found them unlocked. Damn, he thought, Dreth was here already, and it was not even full dark yet.

That made him glad he left his armor back at the barracks. Dreth and whatever compatriots he might have would have heard him coming from a mile away in all that steel. At least now he still had a chance at taking the thief by surprise.

He paused to draw forth a potion from his belt and knocked it back with a wince. Damn things always tasted like a day-old loincloth, Volsinius thought as the yellow glow of a Shield enchantment fell around him. Still, at least now he was armored with the equivalent of mail. Yet without all the racket.

Moving slowly and carefully, he made his way into the necropolis that rose beyond the walls. All around him were tombs and mausoleums of stone and marble, enough to create a small city. Many were decorated with statues and frescos. Some were of gods. Arkay was especially prominent, although he recognized a few of Akatosh and Azura as well. Still others he could not identify, and he wondered if perhaps they portrayed the denizens entombed beneath them. Moss and ivy grew over many of the buildings, and the soldier wondered how old some of them might be. At least centuries to be sure.

As the sun hovered over the edge of the horizon, he paused to dig another potion from the pouch at his belt. After drinking this one the world jumped into sudden brightness. It seemed as if it was noon and the sun glowed directly over head. But the color was drained from nearly everything. The sky above, the ground below, even his skin, all were relegated to varying shades of grey. Only Magnus - now a dull red - still managed to cling to any of his color.

These thieves thought they were so slick, Volsinius ruminated as he sneaked through the necropolis. Every one of them was convinced that all Imperial Legionaries clomped around in a mountain of steel, with bright torches in hand to announce their presence. The looks on their faces were priceless every time the trap was sprung. He could still recall one who had claimed that he and his men had cheated by wearing linen and using Night Eye potions…

A brighter spot loomed ahead, and Volsinius paused a moment to study the buildings around him. None showed the tell-tale signs of a lookout - the line of a wall broken by the partial silhouette of a mortal, or a roof with the suspicious lump of someone lying upon it. Confident that he had not been seen, he crept forward once again.

He found a sprawling mausoleum before him, faced by a row of fluted columns. Its peaked roof was decorated with images of the Nine Divines, and the bronze plate affixed to its wall proclaimed it as belonging to the Albinus family. The flickering light of a torch emanated from the open doorway, and the centurion heard the scraping of metal against stone coming from within.

Those doors were magically locked, the centurion thought. This Dreth must be a mage if he could open it, and a good one at that. Or have a powerful scroll.

A cart waited to one side of the mausoleum, with a ponderous Shire harnessed before it. The huge, bulky horse turned his head to look Volsinius over as he crept up to the back of the vehicle. But it did not make a sound, and turned its head back a moment later. The centurion found nothing but a darkly-stained canvas tarp in the bed of the vehicle, and moved to the door of the tomb.

Stepping back so he would not be silhouetted against the open door, Volsinius drew his mithril arming sword and held it low in one hand. He could feel his heart pound in his chest, and once more butterflies danced within his belly. Licking his lips, he stepped inside and immediately moved to one side to avoid being framed in the open doorway.

The interior of the tomb was rectangular in shape, its long axis stretching out away from him. A row of columns to either side helped support the vaulted stone roof above, and Volsinius noted that it was high enough for him to swing his sword overhead. Stone sarcophagi were tucked into niches that lined the walls, rising three high. Each had a brass plaque denoting the name of the resident, as well as dates of birth and death.

One sarcophagus lay on the marble floor however. Its top was pried up, and the iron bar that had been used to perform that task lay propped against the stone vessel. The body of a middle-aged Imperial woman clad in velvet and silk could be clearly seen within. Bending over it was a Dunmer man with a pair of pliers. As Volsinius watched, the dark elf used the tool to pry forth a gold tooth from the mouth of the corpse.

The Dunmer was clad in plain flax, and appeared to carry no weapon other than a long dagger at one hip. He might be a mage though, the voice of experience whispered in the back of Volsinius' mind, or have enchantments.

The clanking of metal made the centurion turn his head to see a second grave robber. This one was tall, and Volsinius imagined he might be a Nord from his size. Clad in bulky plate and an open-faced helm, he carried a steel arming sword in one hand and a torch in the other.

That was munition plate, Volsinius thought as he studied the armor, iron that made up for its poor quality with extra thickness. From the way the thug moved, the centurion could see that it was not fitted to him either. It was clearly taken off the rack. Or perhaps off someone else's body.

At that moment the armored thug looked Volsinius in the eye, and the centurion could see from his expression that he had been detected.

"Imperial Legion!" Volsinius barked, raising his sword. "Drop your weapons and surrender!"

Of course the thug did neither.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Dec 13 2010, 09:36 PM

[D.Foxy]

GRRRRR....trust you to end your chapter on a cliff hanger...or should that be a sword clanger?

I will expect you to make up for that, by giving us a combat in confined areas chapter with appropiate moves, tactics, and just plain old wham-bam-smash his helm moves!!!

Oh, and throw in some choice insults between the combattants as well, m'dear.

(BTW, since you asked, it's Blue Mountain Coffee, and I paid an arm and a leg for it!!!)

[mALX]

GRRRRR....trust you to end your chapter on a cliff hanger...or should that be a sword clanger?

I will expect you to make up for that, by giving us a combat in confined areas chapter with appropiate moves, tactics, and just plain old wham-bam-smash his helm moves!!!

Oh, and throw in some choice insults between the combattants as well, m'dear.

(BTW, since you asked, it's Blue Mountain Coffee, and I paid an arm and a leg for it!!!)

Foxy...on caffiene? GAAAAAAH !!!! And I can't believe you didn't touch this line !!!!

mALX: Depth of characters is certainly what I am going for, over everything else.

[hazmick]

WOW! . No more cuddly Vols indeed.

Your description of the mausoleum was brilliant, I felt like I was with Vols for a moment. Reminiscing about previous arrests and foul-tasting potions, brilliant.

I'm quite excited for the next chapter, I'm no fan of Dreth so I hope you will write us a vivid and very imaginative death.

[Acadian]

Lots to like here! You remind us that a professional soldier is less predictable, more creative and more versatile than some might assume. Wonderful use and description of potions. I thoroughly enjoyed being inside Vols' head for this.

I enjoyed your description of both the stables and the draft horse assigned to the wagon.

If there was ever any doubt as to whether Dreth was despicable, yanking that poor dead woman's tooth out certainly put an end to that! What a wonderful way to make the reader scream for his blood!

Might I assume Vols is about to open a large can of Legion whupass?

Nit?

These thieves thought they were so slick, Volsinius ruminated as he sneaked through the necropolis. Every one of them was convinced that all Imperial Legionaries clomped around in a mountain of steel, with bright torches in hand to announce their presence. The look on their faces was priceless every time they sprung a trap on those idiots. He could still recall one from the Waterfront, who had claimed that he and his file had cheated by wearing linen and using Night Eye potions…

Two considerations here:
1. The bolded 'they': In my humble opinion you are bouncing a bit between they (thieves) and they (Legion) and relying too heavily upon context to keep them straight. Might I suggest: 'The look on their faces was priceless every time the Legion sprung a trap on those idiots.' Very minor, but it did catch my eye.
2. Use of the word 'file' in this context is unfamiliar to me. I assume you are referring to one of Vols' fellow soldiers or perhaps the small unit he was involved with? If it is Roman terminology, you might consider its obscurity to TES readers and clarify.

This post has been edited by Acadian: Dec 12 2010, 02:22 AM

[Grits]

"That was munition plate, Volsinius thought as he studied the armor, iron that made up for its poor quality with extra thickness. From the way the thug moved, the centurion could see that it was not fitted to him either. It was clearly taken off the rack. Or perhaps off someone else's body." I love hearing Volsinius' thoughts here. These details really pull me into his world.

I dare not ask Vols how he knows what day-old loincloth tastes like.

I am holding my breath waiting to see what happens next!

[Olen]

Good part, shows the Legion as more intelligent and less brute force than they usually appear. It also shows more ways magic would be used which makes the world deeper and more realistic. His comment on the potion's taste was a nice touch, very much in the head of a non-mage using magic - never mind the miricle way this works, why does it taste nesty?

I sense things are going to go down badly for a certin pair of theives soon, but if anything I'm looking forward to Vols going to pay Thoronir a visit, he doesn't seem to be in the best of moods.

Of course the thug did not do either. - very minor but 'did not do either' seemed a bit cumbersome, 'did neither' might read more smoothly.

[SubRosa]

D.Foxy: There are a couple of moves and their counters that in the following fights that I took from some medieval longswording manuals. I am sure you will recognize them. One I was saving for Tadrose but decided to use here as well. You will see your rondel this segment as well.


hazmick: Lots of vivid death coming right up!


Acadian: I put that tooth-pulling in just to reinforce Dreth's wickedness. It is also fresh in my mind from The Pacific, as some Marines did it.

Good eye on the two nits, both should be fixed now.


Grits: I don't want to ask how Vols knows what day old loincloth tastes like either!


Olen: Actually Simplicia never mentioned Thoronir, so Vols does not know about him. Simplicia has other plans for the rotund shopkeeper...

Good eye on the nit too. I used your version.


Next: Our last episode found Vols in the tomb of Julia Albinus, facing down two grave-robbers. Next we see how he fares.


Chapter 25.7 – Unfriendly Competition

"I'll send your bloody soul to Sovngarde!" the armored grave robber roared in reply. Must be a Nord, Volsinius imagined, no one else would make such a threat.

The Nord dropped the torch and came at Volsinius in a rush, stabbing high at his chest. Volsinius neatly side-stepped the lunge, bringing his left arm down on the Nord's blade and pinning it to his side. Damn fool did not even have the sense to hold the blade horizontally to keep it from sticking between the ribs, the centurion thought as he raised his own weapon. The golden light of Volsinius' Shield enchantment flashed as the thug tried to jerk his sword free to guard. But the centurion's muscles did not budge, and neither did the sword. A moment later his own point dove between the Nord's helmet and gorget, creating a fountain of blood.

Volsinius jerked his sword free with a twist, and kicked the dying Nord to the floor. Another kick sent the thug's arming sword skittering across the floor and out of his reach. Not that he was still fighting. Instead the man clutched at his rent throat with both hands, vainly trying to staunch the blood that was spurting out of him at a frightful rate.

Volsinius raised his eye to look for the Dunmer when something hot and sharp pierced his back. Wincing in pain, he reflexively sent one elbow back. Flesh crumpled beneath it, and the centurion heard a groan from behind him. He turned and tried to raise his sword. But the pain flared white hot when he did so, and he was forced to lower the weapon.

Doubled over before him was the Dunmer. His right hand was covered in blood, but there was no sign of the dagger that had been sheathed at his hip before. It's still in my back, the centurion realized, that's why it hurts so damn much. Reaching back with his free hand, he found the hilt jutting from his right shoulder and jerked it forth. Agony seared through his flesh, and only by a supreme effort of will was he able to retain hold of his sword.

Looking down at the weapon, Volsinius saw that it had a long, triangular blade of foot-long steel, and both its guard and pommel were round discs. A rondel, he thought to himself, just like his own knife. No wonder it had pierced his Shield enchantment, it was one of the best daggers there was for puncturing armor.

The Dunmer straightened up then, and Volsinius could see that he was thin, and his limbs shook. Still, the dark elf reached out to pick up the pry bar that rested beside the sarcophagus of Julia Albinus. Raising it in his hands, he stepped toward Volsinius with a snarl upon his lips.

"You'll never take me!" The slender man's red eyes glowed with the light of madness. "I knew you broke into my apartment this afternoon, that's why I laid this trap!"

Broke into his apartment? Volsinius wondered. Had Simplicia done that? He did not know the old woman had it in her. But that did explain what she had not been telling him. No matter how things worked out, if a magistrate heard that, she would go to prison. It would likely only be for a month or two. But as broken down as she was, could Simplicia cope with even that?

Then the Dunmer was upon him, and there was no more time for thinking. The iron bar came down at his head, and Vols easily stepped to one side and raised the rondel in his left hand. Sweeping away the crowbar with the dagger, Volsinius stepped forward and buried his right fist - still clutching his arming sword - into the Dunmer's face.

Blood spurted as the elf's nose buckled under the centurion's fingers. The dark elf staggered back, clutching his features with his free hand. Volsinius followed up with the pommel of the rondel, smashing it against the side of the grave robber's head. The Dunmer crumpled to the ground in a heap, the pry bar falling from his fingers. Raising one hand up to ward off the next blow, Volsinius thought he heard the dark elf pleading for mercy through the pounding of blood in his ears.

Simplicia, he thought. If he talked, and fingered her for breaking into his apartment…

Without another thought Volsinius brought his sword down. Dreth's scream only lasted for the second that remained of his life. Then the dark elf lay still in a pool of blood, plunging the tomb into a silence only broken by the centurion's raspy breath, and the clattering of the dagger as he dropped it at the feet of the corpse.

Amateurs, Volsinius thought as he lifted his now-empty left hand to the roof and closed his fingers. Calling up the magicka within him, he bunched it up into a tight ball within his fist. Then opening his hand a moment later, he let the energy cascade down over him. Immediately the pain in his shoulder abated, as if it had been washed away by a stream of cool water.

"Brilliant, just brilliant!" The sound of clapping from the doorway brought the centurion around. "That was even better than the Arena! I'll have to find another lackey of course, but his sort are a drake-a-dozen. On the other hand, you've given me two more worm thralls. Three once I'm finished with you…"

Standing silhouetted in the entrance was a man wearing a black robe. The skull and bony hands that decorated the center of the robe were deep red however. That stood out starkly, even in the grey world of Night Eye. The man carried no weapons, but a light clung to his hands as he raised them.

Necromancer! Volsinius thought. That explained how the seals had been broken. Probably who brought the cart as well. Dreth would not have needed that just to carry off some clothes and jewels, not to mention teeth. But to carry away bodies…

A disc of energy illuminated the space between Volsinius and the magician. It fell to the floor with a whooshing sound, and a skeleton took shape in its wake. A moment later the disc vanished into the floor, and the skeleton stepped forward with a Dwemer longsword held in its bony hands.

The skeleton choked up on the long blade it held, holding it with left hand halfway down the blade, and the right on the hilt. With a lightning fast jab the point came at Volsinius' chest, and the centurion was only barely able to swat it aside with his arming sword. Without slowing, the skeleton took another step forward. It reversed grip with its right hand and slid it down the blade, while pulling the point back with its left hand. This caused the sword to swing around in a circle, and now its shining bronze hilt came crashing down at the soldier's head like a hammer.

Taking the end of his own blade in his left hand, Volsinius held his arming sword up to parry the blow with both hands. The skeleton pulled down with a smooth motion, the guard of his sword hilt hooking on Volsinius' blade and yanking it down. The centurion barely let go of the sword with his left hand before it was stripped from his grasp.

This skeleton was no amateur, Volsinius thought as he gave ground before the creature's onslaught. To make matters worse, it was fast, and strong, and not likely to ever tire.

The centurion stepped in close and tried to trip the monster. But it was too wily, and was able to skip away. Its blade came winging around, and Volsinius was barely able to parry the blow with his shorter arming sword. Then his left hand licked out, punching the skeleton in the face. A tooth fell to the floor, and the creature hissed in response.

How in Arkay's name could they do that when they had no lungs? Volsinius thought to himself as he stepped back out of range of a thrust. Then lightning crackled in his eyes, and the next thing he knew he was laying on the floor at the far end of the tomb. The stink of burned flesh filled his nostrils, and wisps of smoke curled up from the blackened ruin of his tunic.

Still gripping his sword in hand, Volsinius forced his way through the pain that wracked his chest and fought his way to his feet. The skeleton was closing in, and it did not even have to kill him. All it had to do was continue to keep him occupied while its master picked him off with lightning bolts. But if he ignored the skeleton and went after the necromancer it would cut him down from behind with ease. Everyone said to ignore the summons and go after the mage, but it was easier said than done. He would just have to keep it between him and the necromancer. If he was lucky, the magician would kill it with his own bolts. Then he would only need a few seconds to finish the necromancer.

Simplicia, he thought, this had better be worth it.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Dec 14 2010, 02:55 AM

[D.Foxy]

Very, very good, my Rose. I did the same technique with Sojourner and Alfric/Bannon's battle - only the Bandit chief used a steel spear, which being longer carries a heck of lot more momentum.

Another Cliffhanger! Be warned, all Cliff's friends will come and beat you for hanging him all the time!

[mALX]

WHEW !!! That is probably the best fight scene filled chapter I've ever read - bar none !!! AWESOME CHAPTER !!!!! And now Vols has killed two men in protection of Simplicia !!! That is love, no matter what the outcome !!! Riveting write, SubRosa - I literally could not tear my eyes from the page at any point !!!

I have to agree with Foxy - CLIFFHANGER !!!!! ARGH !!!!! NO !!!! MORE, MORE !!!!!!

[Thomas Kaira]

Aaand... we have a typical bloodbath in the name of Imperial law. You know, for being the idyllic capital of the Septim Empire, Cyrodiil sure could stand to get a bit more civil in the crime-and-punishment department, especially when that poor street urchin gets her bowels spilled upon the cobblestones for stealing a loaf of bread in the game proper.

Leave it up to Rosa to make said bloodbath as riveting as it can possibly get, though (and really, how else could this one have ended?). You kept me on the edge of my seat the entire read-through! Let's see here...

Then the Dunmer was upon him, and there was no more time for thinking. The iron bar came down at his head, and Vols easily stepped to one side and raised the rondel in his left hand. Sweeping away the crowbar with the dagger, Volsinius stepped forward and buried his right fist - still clutching his arming sword - into the Dunmer's face.

Oof! I felt that one!

Then lightning crackled in his eyes, and the next thing he knew he was laying on the floor at the far end of the tomb. The stink of burned flesh filled his nostrils, and wisps of smoke curled up from the blackened ruin of his tunic.

Poor Vols... It seems every time he gets in a big battle, he ends up looking like he just dove into Red Mountain. I sure hope his luck changes soon...

Without another thought Volsinius brought his sword down. Dreth's scream only lasted for the second that remained of his life. Then the dark elf lay still in a pool of blood, plunging the tomb into a silence only broken by the centurion's raspy breath, and the clattering of the dagger as he dropped it at the feet of the corpse.

And so this dark chapter of his life is finally put to rest. So long, Dreth! And may Oblivion have no mercy on your soul!

Well, that is, if Vols can get past his anorexic new friend, of course. Stupid necros, they never fight fair.

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: Dec 13 2010, 08:56 PM

[Destri Melarg]

Chapter 25.6 – Unfriendly Competition

Grits already spoke my thought about the day old loincloth!

I like the consideration given to the effective use of shield and night eye potions. The scene in which Dreth removes the woman’s tooth certainly had the desired effect! I can’t imagine that the thug in 'off the rack' plate would be eager to surrender to the hulking form in linen claiming to be Imperial Legion. Vols will definitely have to open up that proverbial can!

I spotted a couple of small things:

Volsinius paid the horses and the caretakers little note however, and continued on his way. Before him the ground sloped down to the lake, where the great western bridge crossed its gentle waves. He turned off the road to the right however, and made his way across a smaller cobblestone path that hugged the western edge of the horse pastures.

I don’t think you need the repetition of the word however, but it isn't too jarring.

As the sun vanished completely, he paused to dig another potion from the pouch at his belt . . . Only Magnus – now a dull red – still managed to cling to his color.

Here I think you need to change ‘vanished completely’, otherwise, it doesn’t make sense that Vols can still see the sun (unless we are talking about the penumbra of sunlight).

Chapter 25.7 – Unfriendly Competition

Even to the last, Dreth proves himself to be a backstabbing little coward whose bark is much worse than his bite! At least he lasted longer than his companion, whose soul even now is standing before the barred gates of Sovngarde being laughed at! Volsinius shows us why he earned the Grass Crown.

The fight against the necromancer is great so far. I love being in Vols’ head for thoughts on the lack of ease in which one can engage a necromancer. And, as ever, thoughts of Simplicia intrude upon the moment.

[Acadian]

A smoothly written and gritty combat sequence that screams of Vols years of experience. Yay Vols! He showed 'em. I was pleased to see Vols display a knowledge of basic healing spells - a wise precaution for any warrior.

Just when we thought we could slow our breathing . . . What a surprising twist the entrance of the Necromancer was - although it makes perfect sense after all. You have beautifully shown why both necromancers and conjurors can be so deadly if they get even the slightest opportunity to start tossing magic around. And why they are so cocky. Your descriptions of magic use were captivating.

I know what Buffy would do here. . . but somehow I just don't see Vols peeing himself.

Vols' ruminations in the midst of combat clearly show he has a severe case of 'Simpliciaitis'


Nit?
'Volsinius neatly side-stepped the lunge, bringing his left arm down on Nord's blade and pinning it to his side.'
I suspect you mean 'on the Nord's'.

This post has been edited by Acadian: Dec 14 2010, 02:54 AM

[hazmick]

Just when I thought this story couldn't get any more intense, a Necromancer shows up! It's so great! Volsinius is awesome, his feelings for Simplicia keep him going and it's brilliant. More soon I hope!

[SubRosa]

D.Foxy: Sorry Cliff. If I had put the last two segments and this one in a single post it would be over 5,000 words.


mALX: And he has not just killed them, but murdered those two men for Simplicia. Neither one was able to offer any resistance. Now if he was smart he'd bring her their hearts as a wedding present...


Thomas Kaira: Well, Vols did start out with the intention of taking Dreth alive. Hence his punching him and knocking him upside the head rather than running the dark elf through right off the bat. But once it looked like Simplicia might be dragged into an investigation, well, Vols was not about to let that happen. The armored thug was simply too well armed and armored for him to even consider taking him alive.


Destri Melarg: One can opened. You called it on Dreth way back in Old Friends, Not Forgotten. A decade of languishing in the dungeon would not have made him stronger, but weaker. The new Dreth is just a skinny, shaking shadow of his former manic self. Crazy enough to push around pudgy shopkeepers, but not a real, straight up threat to to a seasoned fighter.

Good eye on both nits. I have gone back and changed things to fix things.


Acadian: Looks like Vols scared off that Nord's "the"! Thank you for rounding it up and helping me put it back in formation.

Vols' healing spell was a result of the world-building in the Battle of Bruma, where I had all the legionaries using a simple one. I am sure he would have been using it between scenes during the Crisis, but being a novice he would have only been good for one or two castings before being out of magicka.

Oh Buffy would not pee herself over a simple necromancer. She would cast a combination summon clannfear/invisiblity. Then think over her options while Spike dealt with Bones. Then she would prep an arrow with a silence poison (and likely four other ones too), and killed the nec with a single bowshot.


hazmick: The necromancer was a natural outgrowth of Dreth's activities. Since he is already breaking into graves and stealing the valuables within, why not sell the corpses along with their clothing and jewels? It also gave me a good way of tying in the future necromancer arc. Plus it gave me a little surprise in what is otherwise a rather well-known quest.


Next: In our previous episode Vols killed Dreth and his henchman, only to find himself beset by a necromancer. Next we will discover that Methredhel has not been idle since delivering Dreth's ledger to Simplicia.


Chapter 25.8 – Unfriendly Competition

Methredhel pushed the iron grate up with all the strength in her arm. By Nocturnal, why did they have to make those things so blasted heavy? she thought as she shoved it aside and clambered out of the storm drain that ran beneath the necropolis. She had traded her Redguard outfit for more utilitarian leather armor, along with a dark hood and a cloth to mask her face from the nose down. An arrow bag hung at her right hip, and her curved elven dagger from the other. With a strung longbow in one hand, she scampered through the city of the dead until she found the tomb of the Albinus matron. Then she found an out of the way spot and waited.

A half-hour dragged by before the Dunmer appeared with an armored companion. Methredhel could not put her finger on it, but something about him seemed familiar. She was certain that she had seen him before somewhere. But she could not place his face…

Soon afterward they were joined by a robed man riding a cart. He came not from the southern entrance of the necropolis, but from the north. That meant he either came from the Market Gate, Methredhel imagined, or from completely outside of the city. From somewhere in the wilds on the north side of the City Isle perhaps? Teresa had said it was all wilderness up there after all.

The robed man passed his hand over the door with a flash of golden light, and a moment later the three entered the tomb. An unlocking spell, the wood elf realized. One of these days she would have to try learning that. Still, lock picks were more artistic, she mused, they required skill and dexterity. Anyone could wave a hand and throw magic around. It took real talent to do it the old-fashioned way like she did.

Still, magic had its uses, and with that thought Methredhel gathered up her own energy and cast a Detect Life spell. Creeping forward, she came to a halt as soon as the three pink glows of the grave-robbers sprang into view through the stone walls of the mausoleum. She stopped and backed up until they slipped out of range once more.

The mage might be using a Detect Life of his own, she knew. At a full sixty feet, not many could match the distance of her spell. But just in case, this way he would not see her. She moved a bit to her left, so that anyone entering or leaving the mausoleum would move into range of her spell. Then she waited, recasting her spell every ten minutes to keep it continually active.

A fourth person came along by the time the sun had vanished over the horizon. Ducking behind a wall so she could not be seen, Methredhel used her spell to track him. He moved slowly, and did not make a sound as he crept up to the tomb. After pausing a moment at the cart, he went inside. Then a shout came from within the tomb, and the sound of weapons followed.

Damn, that was the Imperial Legion alright, she thought. But only one of them? Looking around, the necropolis showed no more pink glows that told of the magicka which all spirits possessed. Nor did any other sounds come to her ears, except of course the clanging of metal and screams from within the tomb.

Methredhel gritted her teeth. What in Oblivion was she going to do now? Simplicia's plan would unravel if Dreth and the others got away. Methredhel had expected that the soldier Simplicia had spoken to would bring others with him, not come alone. Did he have a death wish? Or did he not want anyone else in the legion knowing what was going on?

The flash of lightning burst from the open doorway, and Methredhel cursed under her breath. Peering around the corner of the tomb she hid behind, she saw Fox silhouetted against the opening of the Albinus mausoleum. The spirit guide had no pink glow, but Methredhel knew she was real none-the less. As she watched, Fox looked directly at her, then walked into the open doorway of the tomb.

Well, she had brought her bow for a reason after all… Drawing a bronze-tipped arrow from the bag at her hip, the thief set the Dwemer missile to her nock and stepped to the doorway with light feet. Only three pink glows remained within the torchlit mausoleum. Through the glowing haze of her spell that shrouded the nearest, she could see it was the man in the robe. Across the room was a skeleton wielding a bronze longsword, which it was using with great skill against a towering human. He was a Nord from his muscular build and the blond stubble that crowned his head. A patch covered his left eye, and a mithril sword was clutched in his right hand. As she watched, the soldier parried a blow of the skeleton's long blade, then kicked the undead creature in the ribs, snapping one in half and causing it to stagger back for a moment.

It was indeed the same soldier that Simplicia had talked to after leaving Jensine's shop, Methredhel thought. She could tell that even though the pink glow her Detect Life spell covered him in. He was easy to spot, given the eyepatch and burn scars that covered the side of his face. That jogged a memory of the screaming fight between Teresa and Methredhel. "He looks like he fell asleep in the fire!" Adanrel had taunted. What had Teresa said? "…his face burned off!"

So this was Teresa's legionary, Methredhel thought, the one who had saved her life - and Simplicia's - during the Crisis. Damn, Methredhel cursed once more. Of all the soldiers, it had to be him. She prayed to Nocturnal that no one in the Thieves Guild ever learned what she was about to do, and pulled her bow back to half tension.

Letting out half the air in her lungs, she sighted in on the magician. Sparks now grew from his fingers, and he lifted his hand toward the legionary. Pulling the string back to her cheek, the wood elf loosed her arrow. The golden light of a Shield enchantment flashed as it struck home. But the magician's body still snapped forward as the Dwemer missile plunged into his back.

Lightning flew from the magician's hand and scorched into one of the walls. He fell to his hands and knees, coughing up blood. With shaking fingers Methredhel yanked another arrow from the bag at her hip and set it to the nock. This wasn't at all like shooting at a straw target, she thought with a pounding heart. If she missed, she would be dead in seconds.

The magician staggered to his feet and turned to face her. Then the soft feathers of her arrow tickled Methredhel's cheek. A moment later it was in flight, piercing the magician's Shield enchantment as it had before.

The sorcerer crumpled like a sack of wet potatoes with the arrow embedded in his chest, just slightly left of center. The skeleton vanished with a swirl of purple energy, leaving only Methredhel and the soldier in the tomb.

"Teresa, is that you?" the legionary's voice came through ragged breaths. He stepped closer, sword still at the ready. She knew that she was still swathed in darkness. But in a moment he would be close enough to see her in spite of that.

Picturing Secunda passing behind Masser, Methredhel called up her magicka. Letting the energy flow through that image, she vanished just as surely as the small moon disappeared behind the shadow of the larger.

Let him think it was Teresa, the thief prayed as she scampered for the sewer grate. Or at least let him wonder who it really was. Just so long as no one ever learned that she had saved the life of a legionary!

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Dec 16 2010, 02:06 AM