Darkness Calls, The story of a Bravil assassin Options

[Winter Wolf]

Hi folks!!

I have finally gotten around to posting here at Chorrol. This story first appeared at the unnameable forum but I only managed to post the first chapter before the site fell head first off the cliff.

Hope you enjoy and dont forget to shout out any nitpicks you see.


**


CHAPTER 1 –


A Bravil watchman moved along the rampart in the gathering dark, his footsteps sounding on the wooden landing. Flickering light from the wall sconce danced across his heavy armor and surcoat, outlining a face that was crowded under lines of tiredness. Leaning over the railing he glanced downwards.

The dilapidated shacks of the town below pushed upwards through the dark like a set of broken teeth, the jagged eaves clashing against each other in the impoverished silence. The watchman’s eyes scanned the backdrop for any sign of alarm, but few signs of movement could be found.

A moment later a shadow detached from the left hand wall and another guard appeared beside the rail.

“Well met, my friend, how goes it?” he asked.

“Four bells and all is well,” the first man replied and stifled a yawn.

The replacement guard nodded. “Yes, it does seem as quiet as a church mouse out there. But as we know, that always the most dangerous time of all. The town may look like a slumbering animal, but the heartbeat is still ticking.”

“Yes, do keep a sharp eye out,” he noted, glad to be moving away slowly.

“Sleep tight, darling.”


**

The night was warm and humid. Tucked within their beds most of the citizens tossed fitfully in their sleep. It was the moment just before dawn when dark dreams gave way to the memories of youth, sweet impressions that spoke of a former time. Outside the mullioned casement footsteps could be heard, the sound mingling with the faint, snatched cries of the stall sellers that drifted across from the other side of town. The air was heavy with expectation, panting like a giant hound.

A figure headed down a quiet lane. Soft light teased across his pointed ears and dark outfit. It framed a neatly folded letter that poked surreptitiously out of one tiny pocket.

In part it read:

Oh beloved assassin of the Dark Brotherhood, let us, the ruling council, grant you this most important mission. We have word that the old fool, Adamus Phillida, has finally taken up his residence at the City Watch barracks in the southern town of Leyawiin.

The pest of the Brotherhood has made the one fatal mistake of thinking that we would ever forget his past. Fate has now delivered him into our dark loving embrace, an opportunity that we cannot let slip by.

Dear brother, we need you to pay him a visit and make sure that his new home also becomes his permanent place of retirement.

Your loving benefactor-
The ruling council of the Black Hand.

Aradroth smiled to himself. It felt good to be wanted again. Clutched like a greedy piglet to the teat he could feel the warm milk of the Night Mother running down his lips and throat, a gluttonous thrill that was paramount to death in its intensity. Her loving bulk provided all the sustenance that he needed, a clan love that would forever define who he was and leave the cretin world around him living in a bland, colorless land of emptiness.

Opening the front gate he stepped outside.

A member of the Bravil watch stood at the far end of the front bridge. Clad in sooty armor turned dark by the cloaking shadows of morning, he reminded Aradroth of that futile blockade that sheltered upon the edge of Kvatch.

As a man accustomed to studying the fortification and defence of people he was paid to kill, the small assassin was always mystified by the false assumption that the cutting of the bridge ropes would protect and seal off the town from the waiting horde of Mehrunes Dagon. Just how many people did the foolish Count of Bravil think would be able to slip unannounced through the secret tunnel to the tower of Fathis Aren? And how many would die under the harsh conditions of a siege?

The Bravil guardsman did not notice the assassin until it was too late. Spinning around his gloved hand came to a belated rest on the pommel of his steel long sword.

“Oh Aradroth, it’s you,” the guard said in shock, his heart beating rapidly inside his steel chest. “I didn’t realize that you were there.”

The Bosmer assassin stood silent and cold, a contrast to the humidity around him. Small and slight; his gray eyes shone with a feverish light from the shadows of his black hood.

“Sorry Gladius,” he replied, his voice soft and raspy, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The meandering eyes of the guardsman looked the assassin up and down.

“Are you out on a morning hunt, sir?” he asked, putting his hand out.

Aradroth shook his head. “No, not this time,” he answered, slipping two septims into the guard’s hand. “I am taking a little trip to Skingrad.”

“Are you there on business or do you have family or friends?” he asked curiously, pocketing the coins.

“I have enrolled myself into therapy,” came back the simple reply.

The guard’s eyes blinked. “Sorry?”

“I am hooking up with Else-Godhater and a few others. We are doing a seminar on ‘Righting past wrongs.’ I have decided that it is important to open up on those deep and personal issues. It revitalizes the spirit when you learn to love again.”

Confusion spread across the guardsman’s face. His mouth opened and closed like a fish. “Are you having trouble, sir?”

The assassin smiled. “I don’t know. I feel isolated and disconnected. Like something is not quite right.”

“Well that is great that you are doing something about it. I have always felt that the step to join the Bravil watch was the most important one I ever took.”

Aradroth paused. “Yeah, I suppose you are right. I envy that sense of connection you seem to have around you with every little thing. Especially the way someone has committed a crime on the other side of Cyrodiil, yet you still are able to pinpoint them exactly. It must be some form of clairvoyance.”

The guard seemed taken aback. “Have you noticed that? I have always thought that it was our commitment to duty that made us rise above the call of duty.”

The assassin headed away. “Yeah, maybe you are right. That is the reason I am joining therapy. I am hoping to regain my balance with the world again.” With a smirk he added, “Who knows? When I am finished I might end up looking just like you.”

“Well, good luck with that endeavour, my friend,” Gladius called out in blissful ignorance at the retreating figure.

Aradroth turned. “Care to place a wager on that?”


**


The road that headed to Leyawiin stretched out of sight as it weaved through the southern forests like a muddy snake.

His mind was still thinking cynically pleasing thoughts about the mediocrity in the world when he realized that something was wrong. Cursing bitterly for allowing himself to become sidetracked, his slate gray eyes quickly swept the sides of the grubby track.

The green foliage and tall swampy reeds around him looked normal enough, but something teased at the tattered edge of his senses, something indescribable. From his neck a salty bead of sweat slowly trickled downwards, running its meandering way over the lined folds of skin. As it hit his leather collar he realized what it was.

The landscape was quiet. Not a bird or insect could be heard.

The tall reeds on the left hand side suddenly exploded with movement and a large shape charged into the clearing. Brown and very large, the creature swiped at the Dark Brotherhood member with a fearsome claw.

Scampering backwards the assassin fell onto his rump, pain lancing his left hip where he struck a rock. His bow disappeared off to the side.

Towering over him the creature was massive, standing over seven feet tall, with a dark snout and coarse, bristling fur.

Fear spurred the prone elf to action at the next moment and the Bosmer opened his palm. Magic light coursed down the inside of his forearm, the magicka flowing like a river of light. The blue veins rippled down his fingers.

“Guulosh Torr,” he cried, and a purplish-black shape materialized to his right hand side.

The bear’s caramel eyes blinked in confusion and it paused in its attack. The coin of fate that spun with a decreasing speed finally caught a reflection of two opponents that hung suspended in time. Slowly, beyond thought, control or even reason, the creature’s eyes turned and focused on the skeletal guardian.

The relieved assassin watched as the bear charged forward with a speed that defied its tremendous bulk and a vicious paw smacked into the undead. Taking the impact on its steel shield, the skeleton was thrown backward through the air, bits of bone from his shied arm flying in all directions. He landed far off to the side.

“Damn it,” muttered Aradroth as he rose quickly to his feet. Tiny spatters of mud were kicked up as he moved.

Reaching under his cloak he withdrew Cat’s Eye from its scabbard. Glowing runes danced up and down the hilt of the sword as it emerged into the morning air. The weight of the weapon felt reassuring in his grasp, a pull of energy that went deep down into his core.

Stepping forward the morning light ran along the elven designed hilt as it swung downwards. The sword bit hard and chunks of fur and blood disappeared past the edge of his vision. The next moment the shock enchantment of the weapon mauled just as hard, the assassin struggling to hold on as the sword coveted the gore and death of his adversary.

Roaring in horror the creature flung its broad head around and droplets of blood coated the assassin in a ghastly, decadent wine. A moment later a retaliatory claw smashed into the assassin’s leather shield. The impact threw Aradroth bouncing onto the road.

Spinning around him the world turned in crazy circles, a hundred stars dancing back and forth before his eyes.

Not again! he thought haphazardly as he looked down at the mud. Gritting against the pain Aradroth charged back to his feet and renewed the attack. From the other side of the road the Skeleton Guardian clanked over to aid him from the rear.

A minute later the booming sound of Azura’s Star resounded in his ears as the mountain of fur crashed to the ground.

Aradroth collapsed onto one knee beside it.

Breathing in ragged gasps he glanced across at the bear and then down at the abject state of his dark travelling cloak in disgust.

“Oh bull dust.....” he muttered.

On the other side of the road the skeletal axeman brought its remaining arm wide apart and hissed loudly. Aradroth could not tell if it made a victorious or mocking sound.

“Don’t you start,” he warned, pulling himself slowly to his feet.

The skeleton hissed at him again.

This post has been edited by Winter Wolf: Mar 29 2010, 04:52 PM

[treydog]

Loved it. The discussion of "therapy" had me on the floor. And just when I recovered from that, the skewering of the "telepathic guardsmen" put me back down.

Nits- only 2 from the same paragraph:

As a man accustom to studying the fortification and defence of people he was paid to kill, the small assassin was always mystified by the false assumption that the cutting of the bridge ropes would protect and seal off the town from the waiting horde of Mehrunes Dagon. Just how many people did the foolish Count of Bravil think would be able to slip unannounced through the secret tunnel to the tower of Fathis Aren? And how many would die under the harsh conditions of a hunger and siege?

"...a man accustomed..." "...the harsh conditions of a hunger and siege"

Looking forward to more.

[SubRosa]

Ah, our favorite Bosmer assassin takes us to my favorite city in Cyrodiil. Your revamped version reads much smoother than before, especially the scene with the guardsmen in the beginning.

I liked this, it really paints a dark, bleak picture:
The dilapidated shacks of the town below pushed upwards through the dark like a set of broken teeth, the jagged eaves clashing against each other in the impoverished silence.

I have to admit though, when I read the title I keep thinking:
"Darkness Calls"
"Pick up the phone Imperious Leader!"

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Mar 28 2010, 05:37 AM

[Fiach]

“Oh bull dust.....” he muttered.

that's really set the story for me

I really like the way its an oblivion story but it isnt set at the start of Oblivion if you know what I mean

It had excellent flow, and the character is intresting, I do like my assassins

[mALX]

You did it!!!!!! Oh Thank You Winter Wolf !!!! I was chewing the heads off of nails waiting for you to bring Aradroth to Chorrol.com !!!!!!

[Destri Melarg]

Hooray! Aradroth makes his meandering way to Chorrol!

Like trey I found myself laughing at the idea of 'therapy', especially with Else God-Hater (that woman has issues!). I also liked the fun poked at the telepathic guards.

But this line:

Clutched like a greedy piglet to the teat he could feel the warm milk of the Night Mother running down his lips and throat, a gluttonous thrill that was paramount to death in its intensity.

still floors me the most (maybe Aradroth is the one with issues!).

MORE please!

[haute ecole rider]

Ditto to all of the above!

[Jacki Dice]

I also love the little poke at the psychic guards Great write

[Olen]

Nice piece, look forward to seeing more.

standing over 7 feet tall, with a dark snout ...

Just a formatting thing but sentences often read more smoothly if you write out numbers in full - ie. seven feet tall, with...

Fear spurred the prone elf to action at the next moment and the Bosmer opened his palm. Magic light coursed down the inside of his forearm, the magicka flowing like a river of light. The blue veins rippled down his fingers.

I loved this description of magic. It feels right. Might read better if 'light' wasn't repeated twice in one sentence though... Something more like: "Magic light coursed down the inside of his forearm, the power flowed like a burning river." Just something to consider anyway.

Nice piece I look forward to its continuation.

[Remko]

I really liked that!

[D.Foxy]

Just a nit...

I have had the good fortune to study bears IRL, and I know that if a seven foot bear swings at you, you go flying ten feet backwards. A seven foot (standing) bear weigns at least 500 to 700 lbs. Plus a bear has about 150% the strength of a human of the same weight. Think of a seven foor bear as equivalent to the strength of four WWE wrestlers.

Of course, Morrowind and Oblivion are fantasy worlds. You can do whatever you like there, and this is YOUR story after all. Feel free to disregard this criticism if you think it's not applicable!!!

[Winter Wolf]

- Treydog.
Thanks for the kind support oh son of Trey! I am glad you enjoyed the therapy conversation. I didn't quite flow the way I was hoping but it did do the job of conveying the 'us against them' that will be the driving force behind the story. This is only the second fiction story I have ever tried to write so thanks with the help with my grammar. There is bound to be more!

-SubRosa.
The critique that you gave me at Beth gave me plenty of food for thought. I really appreciate the time and effort you went to there. The start of the chapter had plenty of run on, so it did need to be fixed. Thanks! Favourite assassin??!!? Wow, thanks.

- Fiach.
Very kind of you to drop in and leave some kind words. Cheers!!
I would never dream of starting to write the main quest. If I did everybody would see how horrible my writing is when compared to SubRosa and Haute, lol. It is better to hide in the shadows like Aradroth.

-mALX.
Thanks for the awesome support mALX!! Both here and at Beth. You are the best.
Chewing the heads off nails!!?? Wow, I think I've just realized why you have the warped sense of humor you do. It's the lead poisoning!!
I am glad you liked the 'greedy piglet to the teat' part. Thanks!! That was a lot of fun to write.

-Destri Melarg.
I really appreciate the pushing you have done to make me start my own thread. Although subtle, it is exactly what a lazy person like me needs. I am willing to bet that mALX and Haute would write more over breakfast on one morning than I would do in six months, lol.
The greedy piglet part was heaps of fun. It was actually the last part I completed on the chapter, the way it originally read was terrible and I kept coming back to it. I am glad that it finally hit the spot. Thanks!!

-Haute ecole rider.
Cheers Haute and thanks for dropping in. Writing at the speed I do I feel like I am limping along like Julian!!

-Jackie Dice.
Awesome to have you here at Chorrol. Thanks for the support. Aradroth loves to poke fun at the 'establishment'. Cheers!!

-Olen.
Thanks for the help there with 7 / seven. Your eagle eyes miss nothing!! I have lost count of the number of times that I have read that advice over at Beth and yet I still go and make that same mistake myself. Hopeless I am!!

-Remko.
So nice of you to drop by and leave a comment!! Awesome.

-D.Foxy.
Thanks for the combat advice oh master swordsman. Unfortunately living in Australia we have no idea what a North American bear would really look like close up. The largest animal that I see slinking outside is a 5kg possum. How do you guys live with bears, mountain lions, wolves and coyotes prowling the countryside? No wonder your Constitution allows every American the right of self defense. Now I know why!!


*******


CHAPTER 2 –


For sixty-six days and nights, he sailed, over crashing waves of dire intent,
past whirlpools, through mist that burned like fire.
-Father of the Niben.


The clouds rolled across the sky like a tumble of kittens. Ushered in from the south-west on the vast trade winds the cumulus towered over the patchwork landscape below. Bruised and pregnant, with a swollen underbelly, it trailed a sooty veil of rain in its wake.

Cresting the hill at the foot of the Valus Mountains the old man moved forward with tired and worn steps. A simple hide flapped around him like a bird of prey. Raising a skeletal hand up to his bony brow he glanced along the edge of the ridge line and down into the dark land below.

“You had better tell Mathis that a storm is coming,” he said to the boy beside him.

A small head turned and young brown eyes stared up at him with determination. The boy’s jaw was set with the same will and fierceness as the worn boulders around him. “I want to stay, Poppa,” he replied in a thin voice.

“No. You must go. Your first concern must always be for the sheep. With the storm about to hit it is very easy for a stray to be lost in the dark.”

Reaching down he ruffled the wispy hair of the small boy. “Go, Winston, now,” he insisted with a gentle push of his hand.

Setting off and running the tiny waif disappeared down the hill with fast and nimble steps, his voice lost within the shrill wind as he called out for his brother.

Turning around the old man followed the boy at a much slower pace.


**

Standing on the edge of a large, deep puddle, Aradroth lifted himself up on tippy toes and glanced over the rear of a tall Argonian woman. He shook his head in disgust.

The crowd before him stretched in a long, snaking line back from the western gate of Leyawiin. It was common knowledge that most of the citizens of this region came and went with the winds, hiding when darkness obscured everything and reappearing when the brief snatches of daylight shook the last rain lashed drops from their eyes. They stood there in annoying robes of linen, a motley assortment of farmers, peasants, fish workers and merchants.

Wet and drenched to the bone the assassin’s hair hung in dark rat-tails around his limp clothing. He had been waiting in the cue for half an hour already and his patience was completely spent. Voices from a hundred different dialects shouted around him and the people jostled back and forth in the throbbing rhythm of a large, sleeping dragon that seemed to be going nowhere. The gate that rose up before him was like the open mouth of the beast, the rain water dripping from the raised portcullis like venom from its jaws.

“Alright, move along,” called out a member of the Leyawiin watch; a tall man of noble bearing, clad in shining steel armor. The green Leyawiin standard of a prancing white horse stood out like a beacon in the dreary surroundings.

The people moved ahead slowly, the grumblings from the cluster around Aradroth ceasing as the group closed upon the outside gate.

“No, no, to the side,” the watchman commanded. “Over here now.”

The Argonian woman stepped out of the line as instructed. Her slim reptilian shoulders slumped forward in defeat.

Moving forward the watchman’s trim moustache bristled in annoyance. Reaching out he struck the woman on the back of her dawdling legs with a thick cane. The loud smack reverberated in the hushed air.

“You know the rules. Now move.”

Rushing forward two nearby guards quickly grabbed the woman by the arms, dragging her off to the side. Her scaly claws left two sets of drag marks in the soft, clay soil. Pushing open the heavy, wooden door to the watchtower they disappeared inside.

“Okay, move!” the Imperial cried out at the group around him. “Stop gawking. There is nothing left to see.”

The humanoid tide surged from behind, pushing Aradroth towards the mighty gate.


**

The air inside Leyawiin hung like a funeral pall over everything, dark and foreboding.

Clustered together in a tight circle, a large collection of wooden stalls were set up in the town square. Swirling around the people like the pleading fingers of ghosts; the dry, raspy voices of the merchants cut knife edge through the murk. On the side young men carted water with buckets on yokes; little girls carried baskets with eggs, goats bleated; roosters crowed; dogs barked. A number of chickens flopped up and down in small, wire cages.

Dominating the landscape beside the western gate the Great Chapel of Zenithar rose up from its bed like a grizzled father. A black hulk against the steel of the sky, it stared down on the people with silent eyes of reproach.

Passing through the jostling crowd Aradroth’s quick eyes scanned his immediate surroundings. The dreary landscape felt horribly ugly compared to the majestic spire cities of the Valenwood. The people, the smell, it was all overwhelming. Leyawiin seemed more like a melting pot of disease, as if the worst parts of both Cyrodiil and Black Marsh came together at a single point.

Stepping over the rubbish and the horse manure Aradroth ignored the raucous banter and screeching merchants and disappeared into the background of the gloomy town.


**

A wooden door opened wide and two men appeared on the steps. Dressed in shining steel armor, embossed by regal motifs and insignia, they both headed forward through the parting crowd like a proud ship, leaving the startled citizens in their wake.

The man at the front, a young, haughty Imperial with dashing brown eyes, never let his gaze stray from the crowd nearby. The man at the rear was older, but perhaps even more self-assured. He wore a full set of Imperial Watch armor, and silver long sword rested next to his gloved hand. The famed weapon, known as Bellerophon, held a collection of deadly enchantments and was spoken about in hushed tones throughout most of Cyrodiil.

“Feels good to stretch the legs, does it not, sir?” the young male asked.

“Indeed,” replied Adamus Phillida, recently retired Commander of the Imperial Legion. “I only wish that I had more time to really enjoy my retirement, and not spend it cooped up like some damn barn owl.”

Claudius Avellan smiled but chose to remain silent. Stepping forward he pushed a small Bosmer out of the way.

“I never did like paperwork from the start,” continued the Commander, “but that shadow of the Dark Brotherhood just never seems to go away. I hope I hear back from the spies soon, as you never know where those blasted critters might be.”

“Yes,” said the bodyguard and nodded fiercely. “It is a shame that you still have to tie up those loose ends. The word around town is that the Leyawiin chapter here has moved on, of course we managed to shut that down several months back. But sometimes I wonder if we did the right thing there?”

“Damn right, son. We kept those peasants under the thumb down on the Waterfront because we always knew where they were. You guys made the mistake of hounding the Dark Brotherhood underground, and now who knows which hole they have slunk to.”

“A few of us spoke up about it at the time, sir, but the chain of command is very different to the way things are down up north.”

The ex-Commander nodded. “Yes, well, we shall see about that.”


**


The building was cracked and fading. Surrounded by a tired garden of wiry bauera it had definitely seen its better days. Weakened by a few decades of salt water it leaned sideways at the point of falling, almost as if it was asking for shelter itself. On the front porch a man reclined against the wooden railing in the fading light, chewing a leaf of tobacco.

“Good afternoon, my fine man,” Adamus Phillida said, his foot resting upon the worn, timber decking.

Quickly spitting out his tobacco, the Imperial snapped to attention with a perfect salute. “Commander, I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

The old man smiled sadly, his face cracking like a worn scroll. “I am not in the mood for stalling tactics, lieutenant. You know why I am here.”

Settling himself against the railing of the Coast Guard shack, Decentius Opsius considered his words carefully. The man standing before him may be retired, but he still commanded a lot of respect and had very high contacts at both Leyawiin and the Imperial City.

“I did as instructed, but I have yet to hear back from the spies. Word should be back the day after tomorrow, I hope.”

The old man glanced up at him with glassy eyes. “Well, I certainly hope so. The reason I am not wasting my time going through the official channels here at the castle is because your name was brought to me with the highest recommendation.”

Decentius licked his lips. They had suddenly become dry.

“Commander, I am sure they will not let me down. They have never done so in the past.” He gave a nervous laugh. “But you know how it is with the locals. Sometimes they do things a bit slower than us Imperials.”

Adamus looked around, his eyes glancing over at a group of fishermen bickering amongst themselves. They stood in a small group beside the smelly lake. “Yes, well I suppose you are right. The beast folk here do tend to be good for nothing,” he mused.


**

A dark clad figure rose from the coil of rope that sat on the small, wooden dock. Having seen enough; he slowly straightened to his feet.

“Thanks for your help,” he whispered, a flash of gold showing in the gloom as a septim exchanged hands.

“Anytime, my friend.”

The assassin grinned. “And do give my praise to Torval. It does look like the statue could do with some upkeep.”

“Shall do,” the fisherman replied with a gap-toothed smile.

Aradroth headed back towards the northern gate of Leyawiin. The gentle swish of delicate, black cloth stirred around his ankles as he moved. The assassin’s face was a mask of thought that played softly across his drawn features.

[haute ecole rider]

This is a really good chapter. Even better than the first. I really liked how you set up the scene with vivid descriptions.

The clouds rolled across the sky like a tumble of kittens.

Having seen a tumble of kittens many a time, I felt this was a very apt description of oncoming storm clouds! It is also somewhat ironic, as the one tends to be cute and innocent in the way of all baby animals, while the other usually portends chaos and darkness typical of summer thunderstorms.

One nit:

He had been waiting in the cue for half an hour already and his patience was completely spent.

I think you meant queue.

And I don't know how you did it, but you managed to take one of the most depressing cities (it always rains when I'm there!) and made it even more so! Wow!

The old man and the little boy at the beginning are a surprise, too. I'm going to wait and see what they have to do with Aradroth's story, because I can't shake the feeling of foreshadowing here.

[mALX]

Oh Wolf, there are so many places I want to quote!!!! Your descriptions are so perfect for imagery - the worn scroll - I pick that as my favorite this time, but I had a very hard time settling on just one! Your attention to detail makes it too. I almost felt like I was waiting in line behind Aradroth and watching his movements! Wonderful Write!!!!!

And I don't know how you did it, but you managed to take one of the most depressing cities (it always rains when I'm there!) and made it even more so! Wow!

The old man and the little boy at the beginning are a surprise, too. I'm going to wait and see what they have to do with Aradroth's story, because I can't shake the feeling of foreshadowing here.

I'm right with Hauty on these both!


*

This post has been edited by mALX: Apr 1 2010, 08:05 PM

[SubRosa]

Once more your use of metaphor is particularly outstanding. This one really struck me:
A black hulk against the steel of the sky, it stared down on the people with silent eyes of reproach.

I found the queue at the gate, and fate of the Argonian woman, to be particularly moving. I felt the outrage that I suppose most would at seeing someone dragged off and beaten for no apparent reason. One can only hope that what goes around comes around.... That is a good show of writing on your part. Because only good writing can make people feel something.

I liked your choice of Bellerophon as the name of a weapon. It leads one to wonder if there is a crushing fall in store for its wielder?

This was an excellent example of showing rather than telling:
Decentius licked his lips. They had suddenly become dry.

As haute noted, this chapter is definitely improved. Not only in your writing, but in the tone and mood. You cast a dark shroud over the entire piece, not only with examples of physical decay and decrepitude, but also in the form of the iron boot of arrogant imperialism fixed solidly upon the necks of the locals.

[Destri Melarg]

The opening paragraph takes the breath away; it is a glowing example of metaphor that sets the tone for the entire chapter. I enjoyed how you introduced Poppa and Winston and, like hautee said, I look forward to discovering how they tie into the story.

My one piece of advice to you is to be mindful of your descriptive imagery. You are so good at it that it could develop into a crutch that you lean on time and again at the expense of the action in a scene. I don’t want this to sound like a rebuke; the description of Leyawiin’s gate as Dragon’s teeth was superb. It is just something to keep in mind while you work.

I thought that through dialogue you gave us an excellent picture of Adamus Phillida in all of his pomposity. I also really enjoyed how you were able to capture Decentius’ ambition so subtly.

You have done it now, my friend. After this you simply have to write faster.

[Winter Wolf]

haute ecole rider -
Thanks for the support, it means a lot. I was walking through work a few days ago and the thought 'tumble of kittens' just popped in there. I thought it would be cool to use that for the clouds across the sky. Please dont tell the boss that I think TES while I am at work. He would not be happy!!
Thanks for the nit on queue!! Hopeless, I am.
Foreshadowing you say? Damn it! I cannot sneak anything by you!!

mALX -
Thanks mALX. The worn scroll did seem to suit the crusty old face of Adamus. I can almost see that parchment like cracks that would spread across his face when he smiled. Almost like the grimace of a dying man!!

SubRosa -
Wow, thanks for the kind words oh mighty sage. Years of D&D mean that painting a visual picture comes fairly easy to me, but all this other stuff you need to know about writing is a hit and miss affair. Glad that you liked the description. Awesome!!
I knew that you would spot Bellerophon straight away. Ancient mythology is certainly your speciality!!

Destri Melarg -
Thanks for the heads up advice on writing. Looking back I can see that the mistake I made was to focus on a different aspect for each chapter. One to introduce, one to set the scene, one for action, etc. Being new to this writing caper I do not have the skill yet to juggle everything within the same chapter. I shall keep what you have said in mind!
Cool that you noticed the ambition of Decentius under the surface. I was hoping to convey that but as is the case with writing you never quite know how the reader will feel it.

**


CHAPTER 3 –

The door swung open on worn hinges, banging against the wooden stop that was fixed against the inside wall. The air within the crowded room rushed outside into the night, framing a dark clad male standing in the sheltered doorway.

A black travelling cloak was wrapped around his lean shoulders, hugging him as if it were the collective embrace of night. Glancing around, the elf slowly let his eyes adjust to the conditions. The tight clip of leather boots sounded as he finally moved forward.

Across the hazy chamber the proprietor of the establishment cast a discerning eye at the new arrival. She was in the process of wiping the hard, wooden surface of the bar with a soapy rag.

Her voice drifted across to him with the lilted hiss of the Argonian tongue.

“Come, friend, enter. And welcome to the Five Claws lodge. I apologise for the squeaking front door. So careless of me, but you know how it is in these troubled times. I had been meaning to address it earlier and have one of the servant girls fix it.”

Aradroth moved into the tavern and headed past a counter that was decorated with cups that hung from overhead hooks. Beneath them clay plates sat beside a woven basket of corn. He ignored the Argonian who addressed him.

The woman didn’t seem to mind. “Listen to me, harping like a fishwife. Make it clean, they say, and that is what Witseidutsei does, as best she can......” she intoned at the empty darkness.

The room beyond opened up to a much wider seating area. Large round tables with tiny wooden chairs sat in groups under the flickering flame that danced from the ceiling. Ciders of wine and barrels of ale lay stacked against the right hand wall. A few watermelons sat in a cluster nearby.

Coming closer to the tables, a few of the patrons looked up from their evening meals, the clanging of cutlery pausing for an instant with forks mid-air. Dark, shaded faces glanced at him from hoods, weighing up his approach.

Ignoring their suspicious stares the assassin placed a worn, gloved hand onto the shoulder of a male Argonian. Faced with his back to the bar the inhabitant never even noticed his direct approach.

“G’day, my friend,” Aradroth said, sliding around to the empty seat on the other side. His frame eased down into it with a heartfelt sigh. Removing his own dark hood, a ball of scruffy brown hair spilled down onto his shoulders. Wiry and uncombed, it looked like the nesting home to a pair of finches. On each side pointed ears poked up beside a lean face.

Dar Jee smiled broadly in recognition. “Aradroth!” he cried, “Long time no see. I cannot believe you are here!”

The assassin smiled back through tired and worn features. “I feel the same Dar. However you should know me. It was inevitable that I came back to you. Leyawiin has a certain smell that I cannot seem to resist.”

Reaching across the dark shirted Argonian took him by the hand. His embrace felt as slippery as a snake. “Good. Good. I have been wondering about you recently. It is great to see you safe.”

“What do you mean, my friend?”

The Argonian placed his tankard back onto the table. Leaning back in the chair he then wiped a scaly hand across his mouth. “Well, that little adventure you had here last time was the talk of the town. The watch was all in an uproar, they said somebody had stolen the family ring from the Countess. I thought for sure that they might have caught you. But my contacts luckily said otherwise.”

Aradroth grinned, his face looking impish in the glowing light.

He nodded. “Yes, that was indeed fun times to be had there. Although I am not sure you want to know the extent of the horror in the chambers of the Countess.”

“And you think I don’t know already?” he exclaimed indignantly, “Dar Jee knows everything!”

The Bosmer chuckled. “Perhaps so, but it is still best that you do not decide to investigate things for yourself. Things down here are very nasty down at the moment.”

“Well, in that case, I promise to stay away.”

“Good.”

Dar Jee grinned. “Well, unless I find something valuable to steal of course!”


**

The smoky haze twirled around the table. From out of the dark a woman appeared. A faded leather apron was tied around her narrow waist.

“And what shall you boys be having?” Witseidutsei asked.

Aradroth glanced upwards. His mind thought briefly of Buffy. “One glass of Tamika, please.”

The woman then turned to her fellow Argonian. “The usual, I suppose?”

Reaching across Dar Jee tapped her friend on the rear. “Of course, my dear.”

Turning around swiftly, the Argonian woman made a hasty retreat. Her speckled tail swished rapidly back and forth in agitation.

Dar Jee glanced across at the small assassin. “And what is the purpose for your visit to Leyawiin this time, my trouble-making friend?”

The Bosmer’s face became very serious. “I have another contract. But I would prefer to only discuss it in private.”

Dar Jee clapped his scales together. “Now that is what I love about you Aradroth. I can always count on you being overly dramatic!”

Aradroth’s face relaxed into a grin. “And I definitely know I can always count on you putting me back in my place.”


**

The two friends headed outside into the darkness, the taller Argonian supported by the much small Bosmer. Like a drunken sailor, the reptilian thief leaned sideways at the point of falling. Only the strong forearms of the assassin-archer managed to hold him up.

“Same place as before?” Aradroth grunted, half pulling and half carrying his friend down the street.

“Yes, yes, of course,” the Argonian slurred, a scaly hand gesturing onwards into the dark.

“Come on then.”


**


“Wait!” the Argonian cried, staggering against the wooden wall.”I know it is here somewhere.”

The Bosmer rocked backwards on his heels. Glancing sideways down the street, his keen eyes searched for any sign of a guard patrol. The action was habitual and quite unnecessary.

Reaching into his very tight leather pants, Dar Jee grunted and groaned as his broad hands refused to fit inside his front pocket. “The key must be here!” he exclaimed in frustration, turning around several times on the spot as he tried to use the momentum to enter his own pants.

Aradroth put his hands on his hips and sighed in annoyance. “Great. And I thought you were a master thief.....”

The dark shadow stopped to consider him.

“Thanks,” Dar Jee fired back. “I would like to see you try to find the key while you were drunk and wearing skin tight lizard pants.”

The Bosmer laugh cut knife edge across the night air. “I bet you say that to all the sailors.”

Dar Jee spluttered out loud. Damn the Nine for cursing the world with irritating Bosmers. It was not so bad that you got them, but why did you get so many of them? His friend was really starting to annoy him. Was he always like this? He couldn’t quite remember with the alcohol and all. “One of these days I shall remember to pass your name onto the watch,” he muttered.

The assassin patted him teasingly on the shoulder. “Do you still have to open the front when you sit down in those?” Aradroth asked with an air of innocence.

“Cute,” lisped the voice from the darkness.


**

The Argonian slumped backwards onto the firm mattress of his bed. Two clawed hands covered his tired eyes. They felt red and burning.

“Are you sure you want to try this?” he asked with a hiss.

Seated across the room the Bosmer’s dry voice reached across to him. “I’ve told you before Dar Jee. I have no choice. When the Black Hand asks for you personally, the job must be accepted.”

Dar Jee spread his hands apart. “But Adamus Phillida is a formidable opponent.”

“I know that. The Dark Brotherhood has tried to kill him on three separate occasions. Each was horribly unsuccessful.”

“Yes. And where are those assassins now?”

Aradroth’s voice remained level. “They were executed.”

“Precisely. That is exactly my argument.”

“Sorry, Dar. To die while in service of the Black Hand is the dream of every member of the Dark Brotherhood. The Dread Father would be most pleased.”

The Argonian sighed. “It still sounds crazy to me. But I should know better than try to convince you of that.”

“Thanks mate.”

“Well, I hope that magical arrow they gave you does its job. Otherwise this could be the shortest mission ever.”

Rising from the bed the Argonian pointed to the bundle of bedding in the far corner of his small shack.

“You had better get some rest. Tomorrow shall be a big day. If you need anything to eat; however, I have some bread and corn here somewhere. ”

Turning around Dar Jee looked back across the room.

His friend was already snoring softly.

This post has been edited by Winter Wolf: Apr 5 2010, 08:14 PM

[Olen]

Good piece, I like this. The characterisation of Dar Jee is excellent, in just a chapter he is already a strong character who I rather like in spite of his flaws. I'm rather interested to see how major he becomes in the piece.

“I bet you say that to all the sailors.” - You had the ribbing nailed, excellent stuff.

One thing I saw:
Ciders of wine - something went wrong here.

[mALX]

Oh Wolf, I love this chapter! Your detail on the woman griping, Dar Jee (you got his personality exactly!) - I love this!!!!!! Great Write!!!

[minque]

Ahhh another piece of great writing! oh my have these forums developed since you "treydog-guys" arrived!

The clouds rolled across the sky like a tumble of kittens.

This created a nice picture in my imagination....awww