Darkness Calls, The story of a Bravil assassin Options

[SubRosa]

More strong metaphors, as we have come to expect from the Wolf of Winter. And even a reference to a certain Knight of Leyawiin as well. Dar Jee was a well done, and shows us more of Aradroth through their relationship. He is one I would definitely like to see more of.

This was priceless:
“Now that is what I love about you Aradroth. I can always count on you being overly dramatic!”




nits:
Glancing around the elf slowly let his eyes adjust to the conditions.
this could use a comma:
Glancing around, the elf slowly let his eyes adjust to the conditions.

Coming closer to the tables a few of the patrons looked up from their evening meals,
this could use a comma as well:
Coming closer to the tables, a few of the patrons looked up from their evening meals,

here too:
Wiry and uncombed, it looked like the nesting home to a pair of finches.

[haute ecole rider]

I think you have improved greatly since the first chapter. I really liked - no, enjoyed the interaction between Aradroth and Dar Jee in the Five Claws and afterwards.

I really couldn't find any nit to pick this time. Good job!

[Destri Melarg]

The others have already commented on how well you have rendered Dar Jee. You have also given us a very interesting set-up to Permanent Retirement.

It is just a throw-away line, but I thought that this:

"Although I am not sure you want to know the extent of the horror in the chamber of the Countess."

Was just the sort of thing that one would say to a friend (if that friend happened to be Argonian), and it really made their conversation come to life.

[treydog]

You really do a wonderful job of moving the story forward through dialogue- there is a lot of "showing, not telling" here. And we get a sense of the characters through their interactions without the need for mood-breaking description or background. In addition, this approach maintains a bit of mystery, which will certainly keep me reading.

[Acadian]

Wolf, you have done a wonderful job of bringing Aradroth to life! This is wonderful to read! Oh yes, Tamika's is good - Buffy says thanks for thinking of her!

[Winter Wolf]

Olen -
Thanks for stopping in. The hard part about Dar Jee is that I love him so much as a NPC. The desire to make him the protaganist instead of Aradroth is very strong, lol. The nit on cider is spot on. I was thinking of barrel or tun but for some reason put cider.

mALX -
I am glad that you like Dar Jee. He is so cool, isn't he? My favourite NPC are Dar and City Swimmer, it must be something about Argonians that I love. It was inevitable that I wrote my story about Bravil and Leyawiin, I guess. Strange though that I have never played an Argonian character. Weird huh??!!

Minque -
Aradroth says Welcome. Or should that be G'Day? So nice of you to drop in, wow, a Global Moderator. Does that mean that every forum moderator on the planet bows to your supremacy?? Cool.

SubRosa -
Thanks for you comments. They have truly made me smile. Cheers on spotting the nits. At the last moment I removed all the commas that were already there for some stupid reason. I guess that I feel my writing is overdependent on them. I guess I should have left it!!

Haute ecole rider -
Cheers Haute. Wow, high praise from somebody with your amazing talent. Dar Jee is so much fun.

Destri Melarg -
I had been wanting to write an Oblivion story for so long but I never had the entrance for Aradroth. I had the character, I had the description, but I never had the plot line. One day as I was playing through the DB questline I then said to myself, "Yes, that will do perfect." I am glad that you are enjoying my 'simple' writing style. Thanks.

Treydog -
Thanks for the kind words Trey. I have spent alot of time studying how you write the Athlain story so well, and I still am no closer to understanding the mystery of it. Both you are Rumple are the kings and queens of the castle in my eyes. Cheers.

Acadian -
G' Day my Aussie mate, lol. Please send my love to Buffy, I, like everybody from Beth miss her tremendously. I would love to know which quests you two are doing now?? Is she listening to your guidance?? Or still running amok??

**


CHAPTER 4 –


From the trees on leathered wings like a unfurling cape, the great bat lizard was large as the ship, but good pilot Topal merely rose his bow, and struck it in its head.
- Father of the Niben.



The man stood at the glass door. Looking out through the bevelled panes, the patio beyond swam in a murky, deep sea of cloud. How ironic, he thought, that the world around him should choose to mirror his own thoughts.

Pushing the door open Adamus Phillida stepped out onto the hard surface. The night air beyond the marble railing was as hushed as a thief, crouching at the pre-dawn rim of the world. Moving across to it he greeted it like a friend, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

He stared outwards into the dark. A thin veil of thoughts floated up alongside the steam that rose from the cup of herbal tea that rested within his gnarled hands. A furrowed brow caught the heavy feeling of tiredness within the ridge lines of his face, weighing him down. His dark eyes were wide and vacant.

Sounds rose from beyond the black canopy of night, the usual din that heralded the start of each day. He could hear the staccato rat-tat of frogs nearby, the willowy song of the Rufous Whistler and the brief cry of the Honeyeater. From the same direction the smell of Black marsh invaded his nostrils.

It was all cloying and strangely sweet.

Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else in the dark as well. It was a voice perhaps, with human cunning and logic. It spoke softly, gently, a malevolent lullaby that threatened to shatter the existence of his world.

The voice whispered to him, “We know where you are and we are coming.”



**


The morning sun was out. Claudius Avellan moved down the road at a solid pace, his steel mail boots clashing out against the bumpy surface. Tiny flakes of grass, growing up with determination between the cobblestones were crushed flat with each pounding step.

“Move citizen,” he shouted, pushing a startled merchant out of the way.

Tripping against a small crate the overweight man crashed through a stacked barrel of flour.

“Adamus Phillida is coming through,” he exclaimed, holding out a gloved hand to stall off any form of argument.

Like a sea that was parting before him, the citizens of Leyawiin quickly headed to the outside of the road. Bunched together like a sprig of grapes, they all stared up at him in surprise.

Holding his head high and proud Claudius brushed aside any thoughts that he was stepping outside the standard rules of conduct. His mandate had already been made absolutely clear: Protect the Commander at any cost.

He knew that the days of doing everything by the book were long gone anyway. First there was talk of the Mythic Dawn and the death of Uriel Septim, then the extinguishing of the Dragon’s Fire and the whispered tones mentioning the coming of the daedra to the mortal world, and finally rumours saying that the Dark Brotherhood had contracts out on Adamus Phillida.

Desperate times require desperate measures and a few courageous men would have to take up the sword and operate right on the limit of honour.

It made perfect sense to him anyway. Nobody did love a soldier until the enemy was at the gate.

His thoughts also strayed back to his lovely Maria. How she had cried with joy when he told her that this pay rise and promotion had come through. He could still remember the little- girl loveliness in her expression when she said that he was the luckiest man in the whole realm to have this job. Hugging her small frame he certainly felt that her words contained that core of truth.

For several years he had struggled to rise through the ranks of the Leyawiin watch. It wasn’t his fault that he was painstaking and outspoken. What a lovely moment of revenge it was that Adamus Phillida had noticed him when he first arrived at Leyawiin. Although he liked to think that his commitment to duty struck a chord with grizzled Commander also.

Either way Maria was right. Perhaps his luck was just starting to change.


**


Turning the corner in the narrow lane Claudius headed underneath the curved, stone archway and took up a position beside the small gate. On the other side of the low fence, a smooth pond sat in quiet tranquillity. The surface was undisturbed by even the barest ripple. A series of tiny steps through the gate led down to the green water.

Adamus Phillida stopped next to the gate and proceeded to disrobe. The process took a few minutes and resulted in the ceremonial dumping of all his majestic pieces of armor and weaponry. Pushing open the gate he headed down the steps to his personal bathing pool. Following his usual habit he ducked his face under the cool water and rubbed his wet hands across his eyes.

Glancing across at his boss Claudius Avellan couldn’t help but admire the Commander’s broad shoulders and back. Clad in only a pair of sack cloth pants, the strength and power that his imposing physique generated was still a sight to behold.

He felt a pang of regret that he didn’t have the opportunity to have worked under Commander Phillida when he wielded real power. Now that must have been some experience!

The bodyguard suddenly felt his shoulders and neck pulled backward. Crashing flat onto his back the impact drove the air sharply from his lungs.

It took a few seconds for his mind to catch up to the strange sensation of falling. What had happened?

A dark shadow loomed upwards beside him. The quietness of the spectre made him suspect the Nine Divines had perhaps answered his unspoken question. Turning his head to face the visitation Claudius was hit by the shock of confusion for the second time when he noticed the spectre was clad in the dark robes of a necromancer.

Now that was strange. What would a necromancer be doing here in Leyawiin?

A moment later the incapacitated bodyguard felt a light finger drawn across his neck. It reminded him of the caressing touch of a small piece of ice, and the sensation was not unpleasant.

Memories of delightful times with his betrothal suddenly crashed over him. The images came perforce and he let them play.

Sunlight warm and soft, washed upon his skin, and the air around him spoke in a dozen familiar voices, each one calling his name with quiet expectation. The tang of the air carried with it a hint of a clear sea breeze and he could feel the presence of solid figures just beyond the light.

Maria appeared beside him.

Laced across her skin her dark hair fell like a spill of midnight. A thin, diaphanous shift teased the edge of his vision, hinting at the promise of succulent delights beneath.

She reached out for him with a slim and elegant hand.

His breath caught and bubbled within his throat.

Accepting her warm touch he reached downwards to kiss the bones of her hand.

How strange that Claudius felt his head slowly slip to the side and kiss the grass instead.

The stone wall of Leyawiin washed back over his vision, and he noticed that the man beside him had risen to his feet. Dropped within arm’s reach a purple nightshade flower rested on the ground like a spent vessel of hate.

An explosion of fire suddenly coursed through his heart as he realized that the Dark Brotherhood had struck. Blood red and as harsh as the landscape of Oblivion it pounded into him like a viscous spike.

Horror broke over him in a flood. He had failed!

Bloody fingers twitched spasmodically on the grass as he tried to futilely grasp the leather shoe of the assassin. The vivid color that splashed upon him matched the sea of boiling claret that bubbled up from his opened throat as his pumping heart pushed him closer and closer to death.

Turning to the side the dark clad spectre glanced down at him. He was surprised to see that the assassin was diminutive and had the almond shaped eyes of an elf. They were fierce, not in the fiery other-side-of Oblivion fierce, but cold, unrelenting, unforgiving, like the frozen wind that roared out of the northern reaches of Skyrim. They seemed to mock him before turning away.

The assassin lifted his glowing red bow and aimed an arrow at Adamus Phillida.

No! Claudius cried lamentably. Unfortunately the severed arteries on both sides of his neck prevented him from shouting out.

The arrow plunged into the naked back of Adamus.

He watched paralysed as the Commander pitched forward into the water.

Spinning in a lost haze of shattered beliefs Claudius had one last thought that overrode them all.

His last thought was about luck.

It had not changed at all.

This post has been edited by Winter Wolf: Apr 25 2010, 07:52 AM

[mALX]

This is the absolute best depiction I have ever read on that quest! You ROCKED it Wolf !!!!!

[SubRosa]

I find a good way to tell if you need a comma or not is to read the sentence outloud. Whenever you want to pause for breath, you usually want to put in a comma there.

This was quite good, especially since it was all done from the pov of the bodyguard, rather than Aradroth or Phillida. His memories of his wedding day were an especially good touch.

I liked this:
Tiny flakes of grass, growing up with determination between the cobblestones were crushed flat with each pounding step.
A very subtle use of crushing of the grass underfoot as a parallel of the callous tyranny of the Imperials. It is these kinds of things that cast Aradroth in a positive light, as we see him arrayed against an oppressor.


nits:
This seemed a little odd:
It wasn’t his fault that he was haughty and outspoken.
People usually do not think of themselves as being haughty. Outspoken yes, but not arrogant. Instead you might try having him think of himself as being exacting, or painstaking


Claudius had one last thought that over road them all.
You are looking for overrode there.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Apr 24 2010, 09:18 PM

[haute ecole rider]

This is great! I loved that you wrote this from the POV of the bodyguard. The knowledge of failure is a horrible thing to experience (poor Secret Service the day JFK was assassinated), and a terrible thing to have to live through. You have done well capturing the horror of this scene.

Kudos!

[Acadian]

1. Thank you for your kind words regarding Buffy. Her life is as busy and rich as ever - and as complex. After reuniting Corvus and Milona Umbranox, she gave the gray cowl to her friend Methredil who is now the new Gray Fox and so much more qualified than Buffy. Her loyalty remains to her guild of mages. It seems the Oblivion crisis is spreading and Buffy has accepted a task from the Arch Mage himself of ferreting out and eliminating hidden agents of the Mythic Dawn, leaving the 'heavier' lifting of saving the Empire to sturdier heroes. The Priest of Dibella in LA (Lower Anvil) gave her a makeover, so her appearance has changed slightly (see screenie in sig). Things go slowly however since she is still so easily distracted by waterfalls and pretty sunsets and shopping. . . Yes life in Cyrodiil is as rich as ever! But enough babbling about my elf; let's talk about your's. . . .

2. Oh my, this chapter of Aradroth's was as fine a story as I think I have ever read! Everything about it was just brilliant. How subtle and brilliant. I quite simply adore your style here. I agree with above comments commending you for choosing an interesting and more or less unkown character for your POV anchor. All in all, just magnificent! Wow!

[Zalphon]

Nice description

[Destri Melarg]

I am stunned at how well put together this chapter is. There are so many great sentences to quote that I fear if I start I won’t be able to stop. That said, I will point out two sentences that caught my eye for different reasons:

Looking beyond the beveled panes, the patio swam in a murky, deep sea of cloud.

This is strictly a matter of personal preference, but having established the swimming/drowning motif the word ‘cloud’ is a bit jarring. Almost as if I have been lifted above the surface by the last word in the sentence, or was that your intention? If it wasn’t then I would submit that ‘fog’ is perfectly adequate to carry the mood of the sentence.

Tiny flakes of grass, growing up with determination between the cobblestones were crushed flat with each pounding step.

This sentence is remarkably effective as a subtle use of allegory. It raises so many questions; Is this a comment on the oppressive regime of the Empire? Are the ‘tiny flakes’ those rebellious individuals who grow ‘with determination’ through the ‘cobblestones’ of Imperial dogma? Is it the fate of these individuals to be crushed under the weight of a steel mail Imperial boot? Is it three-thirty in the morning in Destri’s world, and is lack of sleep making him read too much into things?

Back on topic, by using the POV of the bodyguard you put a very human face on this quest. Claudius is an extremely well rendered character for so abbreviated a space of time, he will be missed.

[Remko]

I envy your usage of clear, powerful metaphors. And the assassination act was done exceptionally well. You have a new fan

[Winter Wolf]

mALX -
I am very glad that you enjoyed my take on the quest. Have you ever made a character specific for the DB or have you just used a general build and taken your character through it?

Sub Rosa -
Thanks for spotting the nits. Your eyes miss nothing! Much appreciated on the suggestion to use 'painstaking' in the sentence. It reads much better now. Cheers.

Haute ecole rider -
I am spinning in circles here thinking that the POV in the last chapter might have worked. I knew that I didn't want to just have my character commit the murder and have the POV just follow it. Thanks!

Acadian -
Thanks for your kind words, oh paladin. I will always see myself as a novice writer who just loves to tinker around in my spare time with wordplay. The great thing about coming both here and at Beth is that there is so much talent that is does help you see the light at the end of the tunnel. I have spent some time at other fan fics (for games like dead space and red faction) but the writers here really do leave the rest for dead.

Zalphon -
Thanks for stopping by Zalphon. Painting pictures in the mind is half the fun with writing.

Destri Melarg -
Thanks for pointing out the cloud/fog part. I do agree with your suggestion and must go back to change it.

Cheers to both you and Sage Rosa for mentioning the grass pounded under the shoes part. The assassin story is hard to write properly and it does help to set the character against the tyranny that is arrayed against Leyawiin. There is something about Bravil and Leyawiin that will always be Aradroth. It is his home.

Remko -
Thanks for your vote of confidence! The weird thing about my writing is that the strong metaphors only come out in my fantasy writing. If I wrote a modern day fiction story it would flow with a much better balance than what I show here. Reading back over Aradroth I cannot help but think it is metaphors and nothing else!!


**



CHAPTER 5 -


Aradroth charged down the broken steps and landed beside the floating corpse of Adamus Phillida.

Reaching downwards the assassin pulled up the Imperial’s head from the cold, green water and gave him a rudimentary inspection. The ‘Rose of Sithis’ that he used for the strike was embedded at the base of the neck and very little blood flowed from the opening into the water beyond.

Staring down at the body before him Aradroth had always thought that this assassination would be the hardest one of his career, and was very surprised at the ease of it. A pang of guilt touched his features as he realized that his faith in the Dread Father was not what it should be and immediately promised that it would never happen again.

Aradroth knew that he was only a male and was nothing compared to the glorious love that trickled from the cold bosom of the Night Mother. As a member of the Brotherhood he felt ashamed that he had put bosmer emotion ahead of the greater good. The tenets taught that power, vanity, and rage were things that should be avoided, an evil scourge that always threatened to bring noble men like him under. The fools of the world would always be like sheep to the slaughter and it annoyed him to think that he had merged his thinking into that of the herd.

Dropping the heavy head as if it were a piece of trash Aradroth felt immeasurably better when it hit the stone step under the water with a wet thud. Glancing over the body he quickly searched for any sign of treasure but only came up with a decorative ring that was attached to the middle finger.

Pulling it aggressively off the Commander he slipped it into one of the numerous hidden pouches under his dark cloak, noting that the ring had a thin streak of washed blood across the outside rim.

Apparently his adversary was alive long enough at one point to have grasped his death wound.

Aradroth couldn’t help but smile agreeably. It was the little touches that made even the most depressive day feel so much better.




**


Jumping to the side of the pond Aradroth splashed through the ankle deep water and charged around the shallows. The world became a blur as he slipped between the tiny shacks that lined the back of the embankment.

He had only reached the second building when a shout rose up behind.

“Murder!” the voice cried, with panic and fear in its tone. A loud whistle sounded from the same direction.

“Damn it,” Aradroth cursed, his mind dwelling on the distance between himself and the sanctuary of the western gate. It seemed a vast chasm.

Footsteps sounded behind him, a dozen boots pounding on the wooden boardwalk.

Sprinting along a winding alley Aradroth weaved past a priest of Zenithar, his heart pounding like the crash of the ocean in his ears. The man, a pompous fool in a fake fur coat, screamed in a high pitched voice as he jumped out of the way.

Charging around a corner he arrived at the main thoroughfare that led straight towards the beckoning gate. Pulling Cat’s Eye out of its scabbard Aradroth ran straight up to the nearest horse and wagon.

Turning the mystical blade to the flat side he swung the weapon hard.


**

The Argonian aboard the wooden seat screamed in fright as the horse lifted from underneath him.

Grabbing frantically for the reins Dar Jee felt the animal charge down the road, pulling both him and the large wagon load of watermelons along with it. Whipping through his hands the reins of the horse felt like the torture lash of the Leyawiin watch. Yet for some reason the moment was strangely exhilarating. His razor sharp teeth lit up his face in a broad grimace.

Taking a deep breath he lifted himself up and waved a scaly hand around.

“Look out!” he cried, “I am coming through.”

A few people who had noticed him screamed out loud and ran to the side. Others who had been busy loading their food into buckets and drays had no idea until the sun suddenly went dark and a huge shape flashed by.

Several of the guards looked up and their mouths opened in horror. They had the look of impending disaster on their faces. Dar Jee knew exactly how they felt.

Gripping the reins even tighter he gave up any hope of being able to control the next series of events. The world around him seemed to go in slow motion as the wagon closed upon the market stalls. He could see the neat and orderly square that the stalls were set up in and the people who clustered in the middle like frightened rabbits. The sight might have been comical to Dar Jee under any other circumstance. Praying to the Divines he knew it was an extremely long shot to hope that he might make it through the centre unscathed.

Without warning the unruly spoked wheel of the wagon decided to collapse. Dar Jee held his breath as the transport veered to the side.

People scattered in all directions in a screaming mass.

Aboard the low tables the white chickens could tell that they were in trouble. Squawking furiously from within their pent up cages the wings of the small birds beat a desperate cadence.

The last image that Dar Jee had was the feathers going up and down and the chickens saying “Lift! Lift!”

Timber broke apart. Reality slipped down the drain. He felt a pain, faint and far away, in his shoulders and arms as the rest of him followed his head into the morning sky. The wagon fell away beneath him. He was flying.

The air, cool and fresh, laced upon his scales like the teasing hand of a lover, welcoming him into the opened arms of flight. All around him the world was suddenly alive with watermelons and feathers. How strange, he thought, what in Nirn are they doing together?

Unsure of the answer Dar Jee crashed into a wooden post. There was no pain at the collision, although he was marginally aware that his shoulder had connected hard enough to completely destroy the object.


**

Across the area the dust slowly settled on a scene of absolute chaos. The market stalls had been completely destroyed. Kindling and bodies lay everywhere. A dozen watermelons tumbled and bounced around like a haphazard game of skittles.

Standing together in a shocked group the watch at the western gate did not know what to do.

“Look out!” one of the guards shouted as the skidding halt of the horse slid up towards the gate. Jumping backwards he was horrified to see a companion disappear under the heaving mass. Only the steel mail boots poked out from beneath the steaming, dark hide.



**

A large group of people milled outside the western gate. Off to the side a Khajiit stood in a faded robe of linen. A tattered grey hood was pulled low over his face. His light, olive eyes shone vividly as he scanned the crowd around him.

A peddler in trinkets, his suitcase lay open on the muddy ground beside him.

“Come friends,” he said in a raspy voice, “Enter my travelling bazaar and prepare to be amazed. Callipers, jewellery, you name it. M’aiq knows much, tells some, M’aiq knows many things others do not.”

A few of the housewives moved forward to inspect his suitcase.

“Yes, yes,” he cried gleefully, “I have many gemstones that would suit the lovely ladies here. Polished jewellery transported all the way from the land of Vvardenfell. Very high quality, I assure you. Come closer and take a look.”

A shout suddenly sounded from the rear of the crowd.

M’aiq lifted his eyes and a deep furrow creased his forehead. Across the sea of people a dark clad male had suddenly appeared. In his hand a glowing elven short sword was held menacingly. Dazzling bolts of lightning flicked up and down the serrated edge.

“Stop right there, criminal scum,” one of the guards cried.

M’aiq sighed in disappointment. His chance of making a sale were about to go down the drain.

The male in the dark robes charged forward quickly on nimble feet. The sword curved downwards in a vicious arc. Brains and blood flew in ragged streamers.

People screamed and fled in all directions.

The diminutive male charged past the falling corpse and headed straight towards the embankment on the other side of the road. With an assortment of Leyawiin watch hot on his tail he disappeared into the dark, green foliage.

Jostled and shoved by the sea around him M’aiq would only later find out that somebody had accidently stood on his beloved suitcase in the wild stampede.

It broke his heart.

This post has been edited by Winter Wolf: Jun 27 2010, 07:26 AM

[haute ecole rider]

Changing the POV would ordinarily irritate me, but here, it doesn't.

Instead, it is the sequence of events that makes it work. It's like the real POV is that of chaos that starts with Aradroth fleeing the pond and follows the horse and Dar Jee to the gate, picked up by the guards around the gate itself, and ends at M'aiq the Liar outside.

It makes for a very fast paced chapter!

I did see a few nits:

Charging around a corner he arrived at the main thoroughfare that lead straight towards the beckoning gate.

this should be led.

Grabbing franticly for the reins Dar Jee felt the animal charge down the road, pulling both him and the large wagon load of watermelons along with it.

I think you meant frantically.

Without warning the unruly spoke wheel of the wagon decided to collapse.

Spoked would read better here.

Unsure of the answer Dar Jee crashed into a wooden pillar.

Don't you think post would work better here? Pillar implies something very solid and sturdy - Dar Jee's shoulder would be completely demolished on impact, not the other way around!

On the other hand:

Aboard the low tables the white chickens could tell that they were in trouble. Squawking furiously from within their pent up cages the wings of the small birds beat a desperate cadence.

The last image that Dar Jee had was the feathers going up and down and the chickens saying “Lift! Lift!”

I loved this word picture! Chickens crying "Lift! Lift!"??? This is priceless! There is something of the Keystone Kops here that makes the whole thing so enjoyable!

[SubRosa]

Very exciting chase! I loved Dar Jee's crash in the town square. Watermelons and chickens, living together. It is the end of the world I tell you!

Aradroth knew that he was only a male and was nothing compared to the glorious love that trickled from the cold bosom of the Night Mother.
As much as I believe in feminine power, all I can say is ewwwww!

It was the little touches that made even the most depressive day feel so much better.
I love this!

[Acadian]

Loads of action here and well-painted. Aradroth is like the ghost of a shadow. Catching his point of view was a delightful tease.

I was surprised at the pov changes, but will agree that they worked. You provide snippets of what is happening and allow the reader to connect what the shadowy assassin is doing.

It is wonderful to see you continuing this! Bravo!

All around him the world was suddenly alive with watermelons and feathers.

This was gorgeous!


Like Rider, I did note some nits and hope you don't mind if I mention them:

The tenets taught that power, vanity, and rage where things that should be avoided,

I think you want 'were'.

Dropping the heavy head as if it were a piece of trash Aradroth felt immeasurable better when it hit the stone step

I would recommend the adverb form here, 'immeasurably'.

The male in the dark robes swung charged forward quickly on nimble feet.

I'm not quite sure what you mean with 'swung charged'.

[Olen]

An update, bravo! I like this piece it has a unique blend of cold blooded murder and humour whocjh sometimes borders on slapstick, but like the PoV changes it all slots together into a excellent whole.

Others have said most of what I had to say already.

I will say that putting little extras like a cart of watermelons and person to go with it is great. M'aiq was a nice inclusion too.

[Destri Melarg]

The details made this chapter for me. The thump that Phillida’s head makes on the stone stair! The white chickens who ‘knew they were in trouble’! The air filled with watermelons and feathers! All of it just worked!

I am beginning to feel more than a little disturbed by the fact that I like Aradroth so much. Lines like ‘the glorious love that trickled from the bosom of the Night Mother’, and ‘It was the little touches that made even the most depressive day feel so much better’ strike me as both endearing and revolting at the same time. Classic!

[Winter Wolf]

Haute ecole rider-
Thanks for the support of the POV changes. Reading it back I don't really like the switch to the town gates, and probably should have used Aradroth as he was running towards the gate. Oh well, too late now.
Your suggestion to use 'post' was spot on. Thanks!

Sub Rosa -
Nothing can hold back the rise of feminine power! If USA women are anything like the Aussie women then the battle is already lost. It is time for me to hide under the bedcovers.
Cheers!


Acadian-
Thanks for spotting the nits. In most cases they happen because I use the Shift F7 thesaurus and change a word. Then I forget to go back and SLOWLY read the sentence. It is always the end of the word that traps me. Please shout out any that you see. I highly value your Phantom eyes.

Olen-
Thanks for dropping in. Dar Jee is very important to help break up the story. If it was all assassin and killing then everybody would soon get bored, including me. Slapstick style does go hand in hand with Dar Jee. I love him to death.

Destri Melarg-
Thanks for the comments on Aradroth. You are beginning to like him? Oh dear!! No, seriously that is great. If I wrote him as a evil boy then the readers would not connect, and if I wrote him as totally cold and dispassionate then the readers would quickly grow bored. Hopefully I can find a middle playground for him.


**


CHAPTER 6 –


The light danced in a crazy circle from a distance close by.

It was a small bulb of flickering fire and its looping motion meant that the eye had a hard time trying to fix its exact location. He suspected that it swung from a chain attached to the ceiling. But he wasn’t quite sure. He felt nauseated every time he looked at it.

The problem was compounded by his inability to look elsewhere. The shadows that cloaked the outside perimeter were darker than the void of Sithis. Pressing in from every side they threatened to squash him with their soundless roar.

Who would have thought that the quiet could be so loud?

The thought circled around his head. It felt worse than the light.

The throbbing pressure in his skull indicated that he was lying on his back. Testing his position he moved his arms out to the side and regrettably felt the restricting clinking of solid chain beneath his tired body.

He sighed.

So it wasn’t a dream after all.

Rolling slightly to the left he found that at least he was able to relive the painful ache in his ribs. Licking his lips he tried to seize upon it. Small and insignificant, sometimes it was the small things in life that were able to keep one going.

At least he hoped so.

He sighed deeply and lowered his head back down.

A noise sounded somewhere beyond the dark. At first he thought that it was the wind. It was low and keening, like the anxious draught that flitted up the inside of a fireplace. It set him on edge. Then he realized that there was something more to the sound. It was a scratching noise that seemed to be coming closer.

Rats. He tried to pinpoint the sound. It came from somewhere off to right and sent a chill up his spine. He knew that a pair of glowing, red eyes and vicious sharp claws were crawling over stone as they reached methodically towards him.

He was suddenly scared. All over his shattered body he could now feel his broken bones. Each one seemed to be floating loose within his frame, clashing against each other like dueling sabres.

His mind cried out in horror. What had happened to him? Where was he?

Unable to control anything else except the wandering of his mind he gave in to the pain. The minutes became hours as the world around him fell back through the veil of his consciousness. All of the sounds around him grew fainter within his memory and then completely faded away, becoming just an echo of an echo. Then he was all alone, floating down a gloomy and deserted hall of shadows.

Ghosts flittered to each side, but eventually even they were gone too.

The silence was complete, absolute, a bottomless dark well that threatened to engulf him forever. As strange as it seemed he actually longed for that. Anything was better than the land of nothingness he now resided in. It was as if he had entered a strange limbo, caught between the land of the living and that of the dead. But toward which end was he moving?

Footsteps suddenly sounded from beyond the dark. They came closer, full of the promise of unsolicited and unspeakable death, steps that spoke of the journey to the grave.

Turning his head he peeked open his one eye cautiously. The light from above blazed deeply into his retina, and he quickly shut it again.

A voice sounded. It slipped softly through the dark like a carpet snake.

“I do hope you are feeling better, my little friend. It would be a sad regret if you died before our lovely party concluded,” it said.

He creaked open his eye again. The speaker had blocked out the light. The person before him was broad shouldered and very tall. The distinct outline of the Leyawiin watch uniform blazed around the edge of the light.

Opening his mouth the Argonian prisoner tried to speak. Nothing came out.

The voice leaned closer.

“I am sick of you playing these games. Unless you wish to experience another torture day like yesterday then I suggest you start giving me my answers now.”

Dar Jee rolled his head to the side. Tears of anguish slid down the steps of his scales.

His mouth opened and only a croak came out.

The interrogator slammed a mailed fist into the side of his head.

“I want a name, damn it!” the man screamed.

Putrid breath washed over Dar Jee like the briny tang of a Black Marsh bog.

“I repeat. What is the name of the assassin?”

“I don’t know,” Dar Jee softly croaked.

The fist smashed him again. It rocked him over to the side.

“Stop!” a voice called out. It was unmistakably female. Yet in this time and place it felt alien and unworldly. Dar Jee could imagine it had floated across from the plane of Aetherius.

“Decentius!” the voice said, much closer this time. “I said ‘Stop’.”

The large figure beside the rack pulled away. “Don’t you dare pull rank on me. I am close to the truth this time.”

“Go, now,” the female voice commanded. “You had your time yesterday.”

Footsteps sounded in rapid succession on the cold stone floor and a string of curses followed the person as they departed. A door slammed somewhere in the dark.

Dar Jee waited. His lizard tongue pushed out through his set of razor sharp teeth. Regrettably he could not pick up the scent of any water close by.

The silence had stretched out to a full minute before the woman spoke.

“I hope you realize that I am fully within my powers to have you executed?”

“Then why don’t you?” Dar Jee croaked.

The woman laughed. The sound grated on his sore ears. Her voice was magnanimous and proud.

“Because my lizard friend, if I did that, there would be a riot on the streets. Forty-five witnesses have come forward to testify that they saw the assassin strike your horse and send it into a panic. By all reports you had nothing to do with it.”

A faint smile played upon the features of the Argonian.

“Of course, I don’t believe a word of it,” she commented.

A moment later he heard the sound of a chair being dragged across the stone floor. The woman sat down.

Dar Jee peeked open his one good eye. The familiar face of Caelia Draconis, captain of the Leyawiin guard, appeared within the light. Her hands were resting behind her head.

“Witnesses have also said that the crime was committed by a black cloaked necromancer. That of course is a smoke screen to throw off our trail. So, as you can see, we are both in a pickle jar. I have no assassin and you have no future. Personally I prefer my side, because it is only a matter of time before the elf is caught. You; however, will never have any freedom ever again unless you start co-operating.”

Time stretched out like a ribbon as Dar Jee considered his alternatives.

“What do you want to know?” he asked.

“Simple. What is the name of the assassin?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then where did he come from?”

A pause.

“North,” he answered.

“Good Dar Jee! Now we are getting somewhere. And what is the name of this north place?”

The Argonian licked his lips. “It is a place called Nayon Camp. He has a site there.”

Getting to her steel mailed feet Caelia Draconis patted him on the edge of his broken arm.

“Thank you Dar Jee. See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Footsteps sounded as the woman departed. She paused at the door.

“I do intend to send my head hunters out to this site you indicated. Oh, and if they find nothing there, let it be known that I do promise to let Decentius have his full way with you.”

The woman laughed. “And please do not try to run away while I am gone.”

This post has been edited by Winter Wolf: Jul 24 2010, 07:49 AM