Listen To The Sound Of The Ashlands, Chapter 2-> Lock Options

[Fiach]

Wow I cant beleve I havent updated in nearly two weeks
it's incredible what can happen when you break the writers curb and its even more incredible how hard it is to get back into it
So I'm going to finish off this bit before going to bed and then work a bit harder from now on
sorry for those of you (if any) that missed the updates, but I'll try to write some good pieces to make up for it

There’s a funny thing about memories, some will never leave you and others will vanish but it is often the ones you need the most that quickly turn to dust. I suppose during those days so much was happening it was just easier to forget about the fear, the death and worries.

One thing I would never forget was the tomb itself. Nearly a decade of abandonment had brought a thick blanket of dust along the jar filled shelves.

The horrible faces carved on the jars that jealously held the ashes that once made up that same face were nearly all the same beneath that dusty grey smirk. Teinaava drew his blade, a scaly finger dancing along the edge coolly while I stood there trying to stop my legs from shaking.

I recognized the blade in his hands, after all who could forget that rich black blade with the purple edges that glew by the means of magic long lost to this world.

“Umbra?” I muttered but the answer to my question came to me as a blow instead of words with the roar of the shadow-scale as he swept along the rows with his eyes glowing madly.

There was no mistaking it, it was a claymore when I held it last but time seemed to have changed the blade, forcing it to be in the command of a man’s single hand.

Giving a short sigh I dropped my scabbard, the blade giving a mournful ring against the stone. Steel wouldn’t do much against a weapon that would suck the very heat from a room, I needed to find another way out and then I needed to deal with Roderick, he knew who I was and that was too dangerous to be floating around.

“I’m a little disappointed” Teinaava sighed, resting his palm against the tombs thick stone walls.

“I had heard stories of you Ser Nerevar, people said that you couldn’t be killed...that you slayed dozens of men twice your height with a single slash of your sword. They said you would be worthy of my steel.”
Teinavaa’s smile fell sullenly, like a child who was sent to bed too early.

“But...I suppose it will have to do...”
“But why are you here?” I croaked softly, looking at him with all the hate in my eyes.
“Why would you invade Morrowind, we have done nothing by you!”
Teinavva laughed his blade returning to it’s sheath and tears came to his sullen eyes

“You...haha you have done nothing? Hah, then tell me ser Nerevar why is it that fathers, mothers and children were pulled from our homeland?
Why is it that they are condemned to shackles while you roam free, why is it that you force us out of our homes and treat us like slime and then you claim nothing?”

Teinaava roared and drew Umbra again.
“This is your peoples own fault, and it is a justice that your people deserve.”
The argonian spat into the ground and moved toward me, hissing softly as I looked up along the jar filled walls.
Jars..

I gave the argonian a smile, placing my hand on the wall beside me, allowing the hungry ashes to absorb my magicka.

“What...what are you doing?” Teinaava growled, but his eyes were alight with fear,
“Stop that....”

Nodding I began to laugh, the minute my hand left the ashes hell broke loose.

Ashes swarmed around the shadowscale,his snarled throat screaming as the spirits of my ancestors rushed down his throat and cut against his skin with a speed that I had never seen in a ghost before.

I ran to the body of the fallen dunmer nearby and sighed, grasping the amulet around his neck and allowing myself to be pulled through the vacuum of violet light.

[haute ecole rider]

Yes, it has been too long since the last update.

It took me a bit to find my place again in this story, but that is more a reflection of my own memory than of your writing. Your writing is, as of late, very good and very tight. I liked how you represented Umbra as a single-handed sword, as it is in Oblivion, rather than as a claymore (as I understand it is in Morrowind).

And how Furan called on his ancestors instead of trying to go up against that hell-sword is very realistic and intelligently done.

I recognized the blade in his hands, after all who could forget that rich black blade with the purple edges that glew by the means of magic long lost to this world.

Glew isn't quite an English word. I'm thinking you want glowed, or maybe gleamed (gleam is considered softer and more subtle than glow).

Well done, again! I am glad to see Furan come back. Update when you can, but don't try to force the story. It'll go at its own pace, as I have learned. I'll keep an eye out for your next update!

[Remko]

Nice chapter! But why would Firen say the Argonians had it coming? Surely, they dont't deserve slavery? Kind of a weird thing to say for the Nerevarine who abolished slavery in the first place?
Okay, they invaded Morrowind after Landfall but that's war and politics. All's fair in love and war (and politics)

[mALX]

Argh! You let Umbra soul-trap you? ARGH! - that was an exciting scene!

[Fiach]

Haute Ecole Rider Thanks against for the help, I actually thought that glew was a word lol, I really should use a dictionary more often
And yes Umbra was a claymore in Morrowind, but I thought changing it to a longsword in Oblivionm was a great idea

Remko well it wasn't reallt the Nerevarine who abolished slavery, it was king Helseth, slavery was abolshed about 2 years before Furan had left only for the argonians to come over and bring it back, only in the oppossite extreme.I guess both sides have done horrible things, but Furan himself is trying to see the good in his own race.



I took a deep breath, my heart was beating too fast, my stomach was queasy, I fumbled with my sleeves and I thought the pastor noticed me.
“Don’t worry” he whispered. “You’ll be fine.” I gave him a small smile and took a deep breath.

We were near the sea of ghosts, atop a fleet of cliffs that seemed to touch the rich blue sky itself. The wind made the cold morning weather almost unbearable, the people around me held their robes and fine clothes close to their bodies but I was too nervous to care.
“Here she is!” yelled a voice and I felt my heart flutter,

She was dressed in a simply white dress, lilies embroidered against the neck line, hiding the small chain that she had worn since she was six and swore she would never remove.
There was a hushed silence as she walked up, the look on her face showing that she was just as nervous as me.

“Now let us begin” the pastor whispered, sweeping his right hand toward us and then to the sea.
I gulped and reached into my pocket, finding what I needed with a shaken grin.
A small, white gold ring.

“Do you Furan Saris, take Abigail Batian as your guide, your lover, yourself?”

I looked into her eyes, fierce emeralds, my breath turning into a wheeze.

“I do” I whispered.

There was nobody to greet me when I returned to the base, No fire, no Madeline...Madeline.
The room around me was wrecked, books lay half open with their pages ripped out at the seams, sitting in a crumpled ball like a beggar who died out in the cold. Broken vials and potion bottles lined the floor, bringing up a sour smell that made my nose curl.

Taking a deep breath I moved away from the stench and into the halls, holding my sleeve to my mouth while I moved past the bodies that lay on the floor, the look of fear still on their faces as they stared at the blood on the walls with a mindless expression.

Giving a sigh my hand hovered over to my scabbard before realising that I dropped my short-sword in the tomb, “Damn it”

Suddenly a scream rocked the walls, ignoring my pain, ignoring the fact that I was weapon less and that there was death all around me I ran to where the scream was created, moving toward the Madeline’s room who’s door was hanging open.

“I told you about this Maddy, but you Wouldn’t listen!”

“No..please..”

I peeked through inside to see Roderick, a smile cut into his chubby face and Madeline at his feet, covered in blood. Her fine robes ripped at the edges.
"Witch" Roderick spat, giving her a swift kick in the stomach, Madeline cried, the salty tears and blood runnign down her once pretty face.

With anger gripping me, I pushed some magicka out of my fingertips, fire reaching around Roderick with the most intense hunger. The Redguard screamed while I picked Madeline up gently in my arms, moving out of the room and at the stairs.

”We...need...to...get to..Lock” Madeline panted, moving her head gently in the direction of the map room. I looked down at her head sadly while we moved, her pretty bosmer face was now caked with old blood, a deep cut near her eyebrow had swollen and sealed her right eye shut.

Lock was in the map room when I entered, the remains of four argonians lying around him while he sent another into the wall with bloodlust in his eyes.

With a roar he raised his claymore again toward me before recognition returned to his eyes, “Jiub?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
Madeline groaned and glared at him with her one good eye, “It was Roderick,” she whispered, her fingers on my neck beginning to drain the magicka from me while I looked at what was in Lock’s hopeless eyes.

Was it sadness? Betrayal? Maybe it was fear...that the enemy could twist the love of his own brother against him.

I stood there wondering while Madeline whispered the incantations as fast as she could, fatigue cutting deep into her while she pressed her fingers deeper and deeper into the back of my neck.
I winced and allowed the magic to take me,

the deep violet surrounding the two of us, leaving only blood and bodies behind.

This post has been edited by Fiach: Apr 17 2010, 06:33 PM

[haute ecole rider]

Good stuff. So Roderick decides to do something about Madeline, and not in a nice way, either.

Are there pastors in Morrowind? There are none in Oblivion, only priests. I'm not sure that there would be a difference between the two in the TES universe. I've never come across "pastor" in lore, either. For the purposes of the scene, "priest" would work just as well.

Some nits:

We were near the sea of ghosts, atop a fleet of cliffs

I think it's Sea of Ghosts (capitalized, as most proper nouns/names are). I really liked the image fleet of cliffs conjured up, so that was an especially nice touch.

She was dressed in a simply white dress, lilies embroidered against the neck line, hiding the small chain that she had worn since she was six and swore she would never remove.
There was a hushed silence as she walked up, the look on her face showing that she was just as nervous as me.

Simple is the word you're looking for, I believe. And I would be more appropriate at the end of the second sentence. Beautifully written in its simplicity.

Suddenly a scream rocked the walls, ignoring my pain, ignoring the fact that I was weapon less and that there was death all around me I ran to where the scream was created, moving toward the Madeline’s room who’s door was hanging open.

This is long as a single sentence. Breaking it up into two or three shorter sentences would help it flow better. You also have an extra the (from a previous edit, maybe?), and it's whose.

Madeline cried, the salty tears and blood runnign down her once pretty face.

You got letters skipping around on you (happens to me, too, especially when I start typing too fast!).

I stood there wondering while Madeline whispered the incantations as fast as she could, fatigue cutting deep into her while she pressed her fingers deeper and deeper into the back of my neck.
I winced and allowed the magic to take me,

the deep violet surrounding the two of us, leaving only blood and bodies behind.

Looks like a return crept in the middle of the paragraph.

Overall, I really liked the sense of hurt, betrayal and pain you conveyed in the end. The only things I'm not clear on: was Roderick killed by Furan's fire spell, and was Lock included in the Transport spell?

And starting this piece with a recollection of the marriage ceremony (or bonding ceremony, or how ever you prefer to call it) was a wonderful touch. Well done!

[Olen]

Good piece, the flashback was succinct and pleasing in it's simplicity. It was also well placed with its very different tone. You've built some mystery around what's happened to, even having found out who the betrayer was more questions pop up and draw the reader deeper.

There were some nice images too, 'fleet of cliffs' has been mentioned, 'scream rocked the walls' is effective too.

[Fiach]

The only things I'm not clear on: was Roderick killed by Furan's fire spell, and was Lock included in the Transport spell?

Well Lock was brought along with the teleportation spell and as for Roderick.... well I'm afraid you shall have to wait and see.....

this is a short enough update because of school >.> but I have some big plans for the post after this

I knew that we were in a tomb before I even opened my eyes. It's the smell I think, the dark musty smell of fallen men and woman that have long since been abandoned.

A young dunmer boy jumped up when we arrived, his clothes were filthy and his face gave small signs of blight marks on his face and bald head.
Lock gave him a nod and the stable boy sighed deeply as if he knew exactly what had happened.

Without another word he led us out of the tomb, past the dusty urns and coffins until we were greeted by moonlight that escaped from the moving clouds.
The stable boy gave me a new short-sword and a guar and then silently we began to move.

We took turns; I walked during the day and rode at night, keeping a vigilant eye on Madeline who breathed softly beneath the worn bandages that now lined her pretty face. Lock kept silent, his face a grim mask while we moved along the coast, alongside waters of indescribably blue, Every now and then I noticed him staring at the ocean, almost with a sense of longing that he himself could simply dive right in.

"Haeil is fine." Lock muttered after two days of silence, I froze at that, I never even thought of Haeil until now, a mix of guilt and relief both flooded me while Lock continued.

"I sent him down to Vivec, Safest place in Morrowind..." his voice broke at the end and he looked down, giving way to the type of silence that eats away at you deep inside.

"I'm sorry about Roderick" I murmured but Lock put his hand up to stop me.

"I've lost two brothers and a father in this war now Jiub.... You get used to it I suppose...."

With one of the first smiels in days Lock nodded up near where the harbour was,

"There it is" he muttered.
"That's Khuul,"
My eyes widened at that, there would only be one reason why we would be going to Khuul of all plays, we needed to get a ship.

A very special ship.

The ship to Solstheim.

This post has been edited by Fiach: Apr 24 2010, 09:04 PM

[Remko]

Tense!!! continue please....

[mALX]

I agree with Remko, you are good at building the suspense. A few typos but they didn't bother the content!

[haute ecole rider]

This may be a short post, but it certainly ramped up the tension!

What's next?

[Fiach]

~~Sorry about the late replies recently everyone. School has been brutal lately as my English teacher is making us write an autobiography as a “personal project” which makes it hard for me to go back onto word after so much typing >.> but only two weeks left of school so hopefully the story will be finished by the start of July :]

But I had my seventeenth birthday on Monday and thus some time to start on a paragraph so I decided to start writing something so you guys would know that I’m not dead and Furan’s story definitely is not either. As always, please comment and tell me what you think ~~


The Saris tomb was built about a year after he disappeared. Nestled beneath the palace district of Vivec there was a time when people came from all around Morrowind to visit the small room with the three chests that lay inside.

Each chest was a small tribute to the Nerevarine, one held Umbra, the black claymore that the Nerevarine used to slay Dagoth Ur in his final form. The second chest held the ring of moon and star which the
Nerevarine used to prove his birthright to the dunmer people and earn their hope.

The third and final chest held Goldbrand, his most treasured weapon. The chests were arranged in a small
circle around a statue of him, the mer who saved the land for the dunmer.

Abigail liked to come down here sometimes, it helped her think, it helped her to stare at that cold ebony statue and imagine that he was actually staring back at her.

She looked at one of the chests with a sigh. It once held umbra, but the year that the argonians held onto Vivec gave them the chance to break the enchantment on one of Furan’s great treasures.She used to dream of him living in a cave somewhere and finding Umbra, realising what had happened and would one day burst through the doors with fire in his eyes. Not anymore though, dreams wouldn't help them win this war, but still....

“There’s talk of an invasion Furan” she whispered softly, the dim light of the torch just showing her pale pointed face. “Scouts came this morning talking about argonian soldiers crossing the border, past the Mournhold ruins.”

Abigail bit her lip and traced her finger across the cold statue, such a fragile, delicate face he had. “People want me to tell them what to do.... and, I just don’t know anymore.”
Tears came to her eyes as she fell to her knees.

“You would know what to do wouldn’t you; people would jump into fire for you... Just tell me, TELL ME WHAT TO DO!” She screamed banging her fist against the stone floor.

The statue did not answer.

“Jiub, it’s time to wake up.”



The land of the Skaal people had changed a lot since I first came to its shores. Where trees once ran wild and free along the coasts were now replaced with small wooden huts that were perched onto the cold gritty floor. Lock smiled at the startled look on my face. Immigrants are flooding to here every day since Cyrodiil closed its borders, keep your coin-purse close to you.

He nodded to Madeline who was sleeping near the edge of the boat, peace running down her face. I sighed and picked her up, following Lock onto the mainland.

“Why would Cyrodiil close its borders?” I asked while we walked.
Lock snorted, “I’m not in the mood to give you a history lesson kid” he muttered, nodding toward the large fort that loomed only a few feet away. “Come on, the sooner we get in here the better.”

Fort Frostmoth had changed a lot in the last couple of years. What were once scared recruits with low morale had transformed into battle scared legionnaires. I also noticed that there was a lot less of them. War has a high cost.

Lock finally stopped at the main oak door and knocked it loudly with his thick crimson fist.
“Leave Madeline here” he whispered, gesturing to the step and began to walk away.

”What?”

“JUST DO IT!”

I bit my lip softly and placed her gingerly onto the snowy step. Knocking an extra time to be sure, I turned around and ran toward Lock who already was making his way into the great forest that loomed behind the castle.

The snow crunched softly beneath my feet as I walked, there weren’t any Ricklings here, or any wanderers, what has happened?

“I don’t know how long you’ve been out of the country Jiub” Lock growled, as if he sensed my confusion.
“But I wouldn’t go looking for anything familiar. Morrowind has become a more…. Brutal place then it once was.”

I nodded and kept my mouth shut. The snow was falling heavier and the chitin armour that wrapped my body was begging to freeze.

It wasn’t long before we reached a small tomb, just cut out of the ice.
With a slow nod of Lock I went in, the wooden door making a sharp creak when I pulled down the latch.

It was smaller then the last base, Just a large room with a few bedrolls on the floor beside a roaring fire. A small map of Morrowind was pinned to a nearby wall and there was a small staircase on the left that loomed into a black corridor.

A few people looked up when we emerged but put their heads down quickly enough. Lock gave a sign and went over to the map, reading the notes that surrounded the map

“Ok kid, we have to keep you busy if you want to survive here.” He spat, pulling off one of the notes and handing it to me.

Written in an elegant hand was

Find Sk’Rivva

“Sk’Rivva?” I asked, Lock just grunted and pointed to the door.
“She’s an alchemist who’s famous around these parts, get over to her and ask for a few bottles of antidote elixir, she should be near the north of the island with the Skaal.”

Nodding softly I went to the door, Once I had the opportunity to help the Skaal in the past, but the path of the beast gripped me instead.

I was not looking forward to a reunion.

This post has been edited by Fiach: May 5 2010, 08:33 PM

[haute ecole rider]

Hoo boy. Where to start?

There is a lot of buried history here. I liked the little scene at the beginning, with Abigail at Furan's tomb. My only question about that scene is: is it a dream of Furan's, or is it a subplot told from a different POV?

Nits:

one of Furan’s great treasures.She used to dream of him

Looks like the space after the period went AWOL.

Immigrants are flooding to here every day since Cyrodiil closed its borders, keep your coin-purse close to you.

The first "to" doesn't feel needed here. Others may disagree.

What were once scared recruits with low morale had transformed into battle scared legionnaires.

I think the second "r" got scared and ran off - it should read scarred.

It was smaller then the last base, Just a large room with a few bedrolls on the floor beside a roaring fire.

The 'j' is too big for its britches here, it doesn't need to be capitalized.

Now for some really good stuff:

Not anymore though, dreams wouldn't help them win this war, but still....

Don't we all wish . . .

What were once scared recruits with low morale had transformed into battle scared legionnaires. I also noticed that there was a lot less of them. War has a high cost.

Ain't that the truth!

Nodding softly I went to the door, Once I had the opportunity to help the Skaal in the past, but the path of the beast gripped me instead.

I was not looking forward to a reunion.

This is a perfect example of what I meant when I commented about implied history. I only know of Bloodmoon from Trey's writing, as well as the UESP wiki, but I know enough to guess at this fragment of Furan's past. It fleshes him out even further.

Good job! I'm glad to see you keeping this up, even with school and all. Though it's been almost 20 years, I remember too well what a creativity sucker classes can be.

Oh, and happy birthday! I hope you had a nice one!

[mALX]

Happy Birthday, and Great Dialogue!!!

[ureniashtram]

Just what our resident kitty and H.E.R said. Well done! I also noticed a few nits, but most of it was pointed out by Haute.

Oh, and Maligayang Kaarawan, Fiach! Hope you had a good one.

(That unknown word right there means 'Happy Birthday' in Tagalog.)

[Olen]

Great plotting. You show the way things have changed well, even on Solstheim.

I too like the depth of background this story has, it's clear you have a lot of the background worked out in addition to the actual story which adds depth.

The only issue I saw was that a couple of times you used 'then' when 'than' would be correct (when comparing things use than):
Brutal place then it once was.
smaller then the last base

[Remko]

The "beast" that distracted him from helping the Skaal was Dagoth I presume? Loved the subtle immersion of history!

[Fiach]

Free
the autobiography is in, the school work is finished and I finally had the time to get back on track. The next post is an introduction to a character who I has not yet gained that much attention in the story. It may be a little poor seeing as I havent ventured into Morrowind in close to two weeks and if so I'm sorry
But none the less I hope you enjoy it

oh and thanks everyone for the happy birthdays, I had a lot of fun


From the day I was born I knew I was destined for great things.

It was the third of second seed nineteen years ago I was born, the only hatch from six eggs, such things were not unheard of; but it still was rare enough for the cities shaman to keep their eyes on me for the majority of my young life.

I still remember the day I met him, although it has been a decade it still runs cleanly through my mind as if it had only just happened.

Eight summers old, I had pulled myself from my chambers and snuck near the great hall, when I leaned my ear close to the mottled wooden doors I could hear voices, although they were little more than a whisper.

“….but he’s too young”

“Silence woman, it has already been decided…”

“But just one more summer with him, I beg of you…”

“The son of a scale….”

I leaned my ear closer into the door, hoping that I could make out more until a calm voice came from behind me, a voice that both woke me up and set me asleep, that struck fear into my soul yet pumped love into my heart, a voice that even now I can hear when I close my eyes…

“Eavesdropping should be done with a more delicate hand my child” the voice whispered. I turned around and I did not know if I should run or stay.

He was a human, or at least that was all I could make out. He was hidden behind thick black robes that moved quietly even though there was no breeze or wind in the halls to move it.

“I wasn’t eavesdraaaping” I snarled, my cyrodilic accent already hampered by my argonian tongue.
The man smiled at this and took my hand. “Come my child” he muttered.

“We have much to discuss”
He pulled me along, up the stairs and past the areas that I had explored when I was a child. I began to get reluctant to keep moving when we reached my grandfathers library.

More than four hundred years old it was his pride and joy, telling me from a young age that if he caught me here I would spend the rest of my life in the swamp mines. “Why are we going here” I whispered, terrified but exhilarated at the same time.

The man simply smiled and nodded to the floor, to a trapdoor that was half hidden by an old rug.

Dust and cobwebs long since disturbed broke and scattered into the air when I pulled up the latch, the door opening with a shallow creak.

The man watched me carefully as we walked down the thick stone steps beneath as if gauging the expression that tried to hide from him. But there was no way I could hide my reaction when I reached the foot of the stairs.

It was a massive room, easily four times the size of my bedroom, there was…
“Sixteen practice dummies, one hundred and fourtey six different types of weaponry from Tamriel and beyond.” The man said “

A bed if you wish to sleep here as well as a small pantry, filled with plants that are grown artificially in this same room.”

He began to point out the different parts
“Melee training ring”
“Archery Range”
“Library”
“Garden”
“Enchantment studios.”

Placing his hand on my shoulder the stranger looked into my eyes and glared. His icy stare putting a shiver down my spine.

“Markit ba’Teinaava, you are a shadowscale and the son of another shadowscale as well. Such lineages are rare and thus the night mother has taken an intrest in you.”
He waved his hand in front of me, as he was showing me a wonderous gift.

“I once trained your father and your aunt here, what was once his is now yours, until he dies and you are to take his name…. and his profession.”
With one last smile the man turned and began walking toward the stairs.

“Wait!” I screamed
“What is your name?”
The stranger turned and smiled

“My name is Lucien, Lucien Lachance.”

-----------

The years were good to me, training was difficult but after a while I discovered that I liked the training and after a while longer I discovered that I had reached a stage that it was as necessary to me as breathing.

Lucien came often but only briefly, to test me and if need be help me with my excercises. He arrived without warning but when he returned to me one cold suns dusk night, I knew that something was wrong.

Lucien arrived with a limp, his pale but sharp face was sweating as if he had rushed to be here, a fresh scar ran down his cheek. “Don’t” he growled when I sprang up to help him,

His scowl softened,
“I have simply had a trying week…” I nodded in compliance.

His age seemed to have finally caught up with him in the last few months; I remembered when I was younger and marveled at his pale skin.

I said it was like paper and asked if there was more like him. Lucien laughed and said there was and promised that he would take me to the great cities of paper with him one day so I could see its paper people myself.

We talked for a few hours, like we normally did when he arrived. I told him about my weapons training and we had a few small conversations to see how strong my grasp on foreign languages had become. But still he bit his lip as if he was holding something back from me. It took him until the end of the night to tell me.

“I have some bad news” he whispered.

“You father has been killed. You aunt has as well.”

Is it possible to mourn over someone that you have never met? It is possible to weep over a face you have not touched or a breath you have not smelled? It matters not for on that moment I broke, allowing the tears to run freely from my face. Lucien simply sat there, waiting for the moment to pass.

“Why?” I demanded, “Why would someone kill him?
He was loyal to the night mother and Sithis most of all!”
Lucien opened his mouth to say something, but it was at that moment his eyes softened. I think it was looking at me that forced him to lie that night; I think it was me sobbing like an infant that forced Lucien
Lachance to care for me like a son.

“I do not know” he muttered avoiding my gaze.
“But it is ok Teinaava, it is ok now.”
I bowed my head and allowed the words to hit me.

Teinaava

“Does that mean?” I asked,
“Yes” Lucien muttered,

“You are ready to become one with Sithis.”

He pointed to a small ornament on the wall; it was golden and hung from a low rafter.
“When that lunar clock chimes six times I will have returned and I will take you with me to Cyrodiil.” He smirked.

“There is a certain individual who has recently come into my employ that I would like you to meet, someone who may very well bring the Black Hand power that they have not wielded since the days of the night mother herself….

He got up to leave and nodded again to the wall, “When the clock chimes six” he whispered, before wrapping himself with a chameleon spell and vanished into the night.

---------

I waited eagerly for Lucien to return. I looked forward to leaving with him, visiting places I had never heard of before and seeing people I had only read of in the books I have read.

The clock ran four times, five times, six times… Lucien did not come.
Seven times, eight times… I was beginning to get worried.

I was greeted on the ninth ring, although it was not Lucien who had come to me.

She was a high elf, a thick black cloak was wrapped tightly against her frame showing curves that I tried my best not to notice.

“I am Arquen” she whispered, “Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood…”
“Where is Lucien?” I asked sharply,
Arquen looked surprised at that,

“He has been dead for more than a week” she growled, looking at me with a sudden leer in her eyes,

“You loyalties belong to me Murderer”
Tears came to my eyes but I tried to hold them in as Arquen walked through my quarters, sneering at my tools and equiptment as if they were nothing more than common toys.

“There is a task the black hand demand of you” she said, pointing to a map of Tamriel on the wall, more specifically the land of the dunmer,

The land of Morrowind.
“An invasion has begun” she whispered.
“Shadowscale are needed.”

“No!” I spat
“What did you do to Lucien?”
Arquen’s eyes filled with a dangerous fury.

“Before I leave I must show you discipline it seems” she growled.
My screams ran through my training room that night. I never spat at her again.

-------

I pulled myself away from the rubble around me with a grin. The dunmer who I was sent after was strong.
No, the Nerevarine was strong.

But I was stronger.

With the last of my strength I pushed myself out of the Sithis forsaken tomb and into the sunlight beyond. Umbra lazily dragging along the ground behind me.

He would be difficult to track and I would need to report to the Black Hand of course.

But he will be found and will feel the sting of my blade.

This post has been edited by Fiach: May 24 2010, 10:49 PM

[mALX]

Really great chapter! You packed a lot into Teinaava's history here!!! I love the story, and how he came to him after death!!!

[Fiach]

this cannot be, the bloodmoon falls and the prey still lives... you have defeated my aspect but I will return mortal, The bloodmoon will rise again and my hounds will walk the lands let this world enjoy its brief restment for hircine will hunt again.

After all those years and that voice still sent a shiver down my spine.
Memories flowed thickly through my mind of the forests of solstheim, of the spirit bear dying with a cry, of thick bushy brown hair erupting from my screaming shaking body.

No,

some things are better left forgotten.

In a way Ravenrock was like me. When it began in Morrowind it had promise and in a way it may have lived up to its promises, but still age and life had worn it down.

What was once a small but booming imperial settlement was now a small city, no, a city implies growth and production and Ravenrock had none of that, with small wooden huts built upon land that did not belong to its owners.

It was an awful day, with a cold drizzle that had made its way from the sea to this little spot in the world. It wasn’t raining but then again it wasn’t really dry either, the air was damp and just walking through it soaked your skin.

Walking quietly through Ravenrock’s streets it was easy to see how much it changed since I last arrived, the muddy streets squelched beneath my feet and a guard passed me, his armour a mix between Redoran bonemold and Imperial chain, neither of course could stop the water and it clung to his bald wheezing head as he walked past.

Families wrapped in rags were dipped beneath the ruins of abandoned huts that had their roofs collapsed but seemed not to care, as if the four thin walls were enough of a home as they could get.

There was a young dunmer girl who was sitting in a doorway, her gray hair was greasy and soaking and ran down her gaunt cheeks as she stared at me with hollow eyes.

I smiled and reached into my purse to give her something but her pale red eyes saw the movement and with a shriek she ran; the possible danger lurking through her mind, her bare feet slapping against the wet floor, leaving a small trail of blood behind that quickly vanished beneath the sodden earth.

A part of me wanted to run after her, to give her some coins and tell her it was ok, look after her and take her off the street.

But as the minutes walking passed I saw more children, more families squatted near buildings in a vain effort to escape the weather and the fevers it might bring. But Lock had sent me to find someone, Sk’rivva, and helping the resistance that fought against the enemy was more important than helping the people who suffered.

What a fool I was back then.

Within nearly an hour of walking through these streets the exit was in sight and my heart leapt at it, any reason to get away from there I suppose.

But it was here that I finally noticed the plight of the people in Solstheim. He was an argonian, wrapped in rough brown robes he was lying near a large fir tree that loomed just outside of town.

As I approached the exit I spotted a guard out of the corner of my eye who
began walking towards the stranger.

“So, how are you liking the weather lizard?” the guard said, his sarcastic sneer of a voice booming across the walls around me.
The argonian didn’t reply and simply shook his head, burying it between his knees and shaking.

To this day I don’t know if it was from fear or cold.

“Well it’s funny” the guard continued. “But you argonians don’t like this cold weather that much does ya? You be liken them swamps and ditches and mud eh?”
He leaned closer to the argonian, his bonemold armoured hand wrapped around the argonians shoulder. “So why are you here eh? What’s your game?”

The argonians muttered something, although from the distance it sounded more like a sob.
I kept walking toward them, I could see the guard properly now.
He was a dunmer, Redoran’s symbol cut into his bonemold armour but there was no trace of honour in this dunmer’s eyes.
“You see” he whispered softly.

“I don’t like it when you snakes are wandering through our towns, pushin innocent famblies out of their homes, stealing from us...spying on us.. is that why you’re here slithers? You be spyin?”

The argonian kept silent, his thin scaly arms wrapped around his knees while he slowly rocked himself back and forth like either a madman or a baby, the sound of his sobs rolling through me.

The dunmer was unimpressed “ANSWER ME!” he roared, drawing his longsword and smacking the argonian the butt of his sword.

That broke the argonians position as he tumbled into the mud; his hood fell back and revealed his face.
I stopped, the argonian was old, very old... scales that had once been fiery red had dimmed with his years, dulled with the pain and sagged now beneath his ancient eyes.

It made me stop, but I cannot say the same for the guard.

“ANSWER ME YOU SLIMY USELESS THIEVING PIECE OF...!” the guard roared, fury laced in his face as he continued to beat the old argonian, his cries drowned by the guard’s screaming.

It didn’t last long. The first thing the guard must have felt was the ball of fire hitting his chest, the cuirass boiling over his skin.

Then he must have felt the power of paralysis lace his body, forcing his muscles shut and his eyes closed.

Finally he would have felt his sword leaving his hand, the dull clatter of it ringing against the road. With a smile I stood up from the guards gibbering body and turned to the argonian who was still sitting waist deep in mud.

The argonian looked at me for a moment shock still lined his face, should he thank me or should he be afraid, a man who could take down a guard by himself would be far more dangerous than anyone else in this town.

With a smile I dropped my purse onto his lap, the dull ringing of what drakes I had left filling up the midnight air.

I didn’t need it anymore.

With a sigh I turned and began to walk out away from Ravenrock, away from the argonian, away from the girl with hollow eyes.

Sk’rivva and the Skaal were waiting.