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

[Remko]

I really liked the last chapter although it was a bit unclear who's POV this was. I'm assuming it's Teineeva's?

[Olen]

I thought the POV was Furan's (he was looking for someone on solstheim if I correctly recall) though his giving money to the argonian seemed a shade odd, though I suppose he probably wasn't a spy.

Good chapter, you caught the air of dead end towns well with Raven Rock. You're developing a nice plot as well.

[haute ecole rider]

I loved the dull, hopeless depression that is Ravenrock in this latest chapter.

Heartwrenching, despairing, sad.

Wonderful writing!

[Fiach]

~I'm glad you are all liking the story so far :]

I'm sorry about the mix up Remko, I'll be more clear next time. Here's the next piece of Furan's tale, enjoy



Nights are strange in Solstheim. Too much cold I think, so much frost that not even the suns rays want to for much longer then they need be.
Three days had passed since Ravenrock, three days with a tense chill that refused to budge as I moved my legs, three days of navigating past thick bundles of trees and past snowstorms so strong that I half feared that they would rip the flesh from my bones, and then turn my remains to white.
The corprus 'gift' that I was tainted with for so long staved off the illness but I could still feel it creeping against me, waiting to seep into my creaking bones.

Last time I made the trip I was young, I had youth, real youth instead of the mask that only elves wore. There was a fire in my heart back then, my ignorant mind convinced that I was the Nerevarine. That I was practically a god...

Another snowstorm began to pick up, I help my chapped hands together and made my way slowly near a rustle of trees, I only thought about two things during my first trip.

Worry for the captain who was kidnapped, fear for the unknown skaal who loomed in these foreign lands. And then of Abigail, my wife of little more then a few months, yes we married scant days after the battle against Dagoth,

I imagined her thin pale face, that lovely brown hair which was cut short that spiked up when it was wet. Small hands and the small bump of a child.

I stopped.

A child.

a small cold frown tugged at my lips as I began to move again towards the dying storm. Had it really been so long since those days?
those horrible, horrible days...

The camp of Urshilaku held the evening mist like a cloak that night. It was the seventh of Evening Star so the babe would be born during the darkest month of the year, during the sign of the Thief.

The Thief

I almost laughed at that. The very occupation that brought me to Morrowind in the first place would be the guide for my sons life.
Ralen we would call him, its an old name and with a strong destiny, hope.
After the trials of both Dagoth Ur and of the Bloodmoon, Morrowind needed its hope. More then ever.


Nearby a deer saw me and stood still, it's brown eyes held toward me in strong fear. My stomach rumbled and my nose turned in disgust, for myself, for what could have been.

Inside the hut was Sul-Matuul, wisest man I knew, from outside I could hear his hoarse voice mutter prayers and incantations while mixing salves and herbs that almost made my stomach turn.

With a growl the old Ashlander told me to get out.

With a chuckle I remembered when he first predicted the baby, which shocked Abigail just as much as me. Offspring from a human and an elf were very rare. And dangerous. Sul did not mention the last part, instead let it hang into the air like a noose around our necks.

I took a deep breath and began to wander around, It was here that I my journey as the Nerevarine truly began, it is here that Ralen's life will begin as well.

I smiled to myself. I'm about to become a father...

Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled, beneath the thick back sky I continued to walk, the sun would probably rise soon and I wanted to make my way to the Skaal village before sun set.
Snow cropped around my body, the small hairs on my face freezing into a dense white, making me look older then I am, almost as old as I feel.

I took a moment to look up, allowing my finger to trace the invisible lines that were weaved between the stars that a wise old man once told me showed our destinies. A wise old man who let an empire crumble to dust.

The Mage,
The Apprentice,
Atronach,
Tower,

Thief.

My smile faded.

I suppose you could say that my thoughts shattered with the silence, my eyes widened. There was nothing, Abigail's crying had ceased, Sul-Matuul's prayers had died. I stood there for a moment, terror wrapped around my every breath.

But then Abigail started to cry again, but it wasn't a cry of pain.

One of sorrow.

No....

Memories are a funny thing, you always seem to remember the blade, the part that hurts you the most. I can barely remember the feast we had to celebrate the babies conception, I can't even remember what I was doing before we arrived at the camp.

I just remember shock gripping to my throat, forcing my way into the hut, with Abigail screaming and holding a small bundle of cloth that was stained with blood, with no movement or a whisper coming from it.
I just remember Sul-Matuul beside me, shaking his head as tears stained his ancient cheeks.
whispering the words that would send my world crashing down.

'I'm sorry, we did all we could....'

yes, memories are funny like that.

"is this why I left?" I murmered, my back into the snow, the ice burned my back but I did not care, I half hoped for the earth to open up, to swallow me along with my mistakes.

"it wasn't because I needed adventure....or because Morrowind didn't need me anymore. I was a coward!" I screamed, hitting the cold hard ground beneath me with a balled up fist that just made me hurt more.

"Coward...." I murmered, the tears freezing slowly as they went down the sides of my face while my eyes closing, exhaustion finally kicking in.

The darkness did not come soon enough.

This post has been edited by Fiach: Jun 14 2010, 09:04 PM

[haute ecole rider]

Now that's a tragic chapter, and a sad flashback.

The emotions here are genuine, and quite powerful. And here we have more of Furan's past, and another peek at his ladylove, Abigail.

Well done! I didn't catch any nits this time.

[Remko]

Best chapter so far?! The emotions and his past were beautifully done. My hat off to you .

[Fiach]

Due to some unforeseen events I found myself without any internets for a the past month or so...while armed with an Internet café, it didn't really give me the chance to write a full chapter, so here we go again...back on track


(oh and thanks haute and remko, I'm glad you liked it...hopefully the story won't be too difficult to get back into.)

[i]A strong wind howled over the snow capped trees of Thirsk,hail and snow hammered angrily against the wooden walls and thick windows.

Despite the weather Thirsk has always had its troubles, from raiders hiding in the nearby outskirts to demons themselves! Shedding skin and bone to become demons that wish for nothing more then to rip their little lives apart. Of course it had been many years since such a creature had been spotted and of course there were the new people, imperials, Khajiit and even their fellow Nords, trying to escape the horrors of their homes and finding that even their own crumbling empire did not want them, forcing them to stay and scoff at the villages beliefs.

'They are can't be true' they say raptly with a small grin on their faces, 'such monsters could never exist!' But Old Throg had seen these monsters and old Throg's eyes never fooled him.

"So what shall the tale be tonight children?" Throg asked, his back against a chair that was eased out near the roaring fire.
"THE SNOW PRINCE!"
"THE FALL OF MOURNHOLD!"
"THE BLOODMOON!"
The Storyteller took off his wide brimmed hat, his pale blue eyes skimming over the young-lings before him, all were Nords even though there were many people in the tavern this night from Khajiit to Ysmir forbid, a Woodelf!, few of which could or wanted to remember those dark days.

Old Throg smiled and took the pipe out of his mouth.
It was important to remember them though, otherwise the facts would fade, turn to myth and legend... eventually people will say it is just a story and that is when new mistakes are made.

One of the children crept up to him, "Please mister, tell us about the man wolves" she whispered blowing stray piece of blond hair from her eyes. Scotte was the girls name, now eleven years old she was nearly ready for marriage, Throg sighed; it was probably his duty to keep her childhood going until those days.

"Very well" he roared, clapping his hands to draw the attention to him. which it did, soon all eyes were on his wrinkled face, his former muscles turned to flab with age while his icy blue eyes remained alert and intense as if it was a great river pounding inside his head.

Like an artist he moved his spider like hands over the fire, rubbing slowly to keep the warmth and savoring every moment, knowing that the entire inn was watching and holding their breath.

Picking up his walking stick he pounded it against the ancient stone floor,
Once!
Twice!
Three times!

"Our story begins only a few years ago, on a night...very much like this."
He lifted up his tankard from the floor and took a deep draught, his neck moving with the golden liqour pulsing through his body.
"The rain lashed and battered our lands while the moon bled from the sky as if it had been slashed by a great ebony blade.
We lived in fear of the demons that ran through our lands, mortal weapons doing little good to stop the bloodshed and fear...Every night our numbers whittled away until our great shaman Wind-eye begged the spirits for aid."

Throg took another sip of his tankard and licked his lips slowly.
The children in front of his were captured by his every move, their eyes wide and gleaming like gold pieces even though they had heard this story dozens of times. the adults weren't much better with the barman staying in his place with a half filled tankard still in his hand.

"Now what was the secret that the spirits told us?"

"Silver!" the crowd said, their voices little more then a whisper as if simply saying the name of the weapons would bring the beasts upon them again.

"Aye, silver!" Throg shouted, his voice hoarse.

"Like fire to flesh it was on the beasts! Like a tongue on frozen steel did they howl in pain during the night!

We finally had hope that we would survive, maybe even kill wipe out the very beasts themselves from the lands!"

The storyteller sighed and took a deep pull from his pipe, blowing out small smoky hoops into the air.

"We had hope....until he came"

"The Narvirin" the children whispered, their hands to their mouths with their eyes looking up to the ceiling.

"Was his ears pointed?" one of the smaller children asked eagerly, his voice little more then a squeak.

"That they were" he growled
"Pointed like the horns of Mehrunes Dagon himself! And his eyes glew redder then the very flasmes of Oblivion where devils and daedra rip the souls of the damned for eternity!" Thorg put his hands to his forehead and pointed them like horns and waggled his tongue at the crowd. The group laughed half heartedly and grouped in closer to hear more.

"He was a famous chap from where he came from sure, so we welcomed him with open arms thinking that perhaps he could help us in our crusade against the woves, but alas that was not meant to be"

Old Throg gave a weak smile toward the fire and nodded out towards the door.
"He became one of them of course, but stronger, ripping the flesh and blood of many of our countrymen and even taking the chieftain himself!

But Tharsten Heart-Fang was strong and brave and even though we never saw him again, I think that it be no coincidence that when he vanished so did the wolf men."

The crowd dropped their heads, the children too for they knew that such sacrifice was the reason why they were alive and it was their duty to teach this story to their own young in the coming years.

"And what happened to the Narvirin?" the Scotte asked, her rich blue eyes wide with fear.

"Died" the old storyteller said simply, "and if you ask me he was the one who caused all this mess, sided with the lizard folk mayhap and decided that all free men should suffer under his thumb." He said this very softly though, his cold eyes checking to see if and Dunmer were in the tavern, there were none and with that he took an easy breath. Sure enough though some of the people exchanged dark looks and, when realizing that the story was finished, edged out to rejoin their families.



"Could have gone without that..."I chuckled darkly, my back still against the thick wooden wall where I had placed it at the beginning of the night.

It didn't take long, as the locals began to move out of the small room that a Nord approached me.
"Jiub?" He asked.
I gave a curt nod and pulled up my robes slightly, revealing an ashen arm.

"Follow me" he whispered, pulling me out of the inn with a brisk walk.

This post has been edited by Fiach: Jul 18 2010, 11:15 AM

[haute ecole rider]

Ah, so the Nerevarine was the cause of the scourge that haunted Thirsk not so long ago? How odd it must be to hear that story as the Nerevarine!

The power of the storyteller! No matter the culture, location, or time of year, a true storyteller can mesmerize his or her audience with the potency of words alone. The old Celts have the right of it, that mere words contain power. That much is clear here in the story of the storyteller.

I want to see where this story takes us next!

[Fiach]

Ok guys, I hope you like the next part : )



[[Teinaava]]

I remember the first time I met the lizard king, it was nine years ago on a cold swampy night. The great tree where he had his home was still with an eerie silence. Arwen sent me up to him, in his light purple robes with his black scales like powdered ebony shining out from the light given by the nearby torches.
"Do you know why you are here?" he whispered quietly, his cold face looking out towards the window, green eyes unblinking at the hidden moons.

I shook my head softly.
The king turned and looked at me with a small weary smile, his young eyes seeming so old, so tired.
"You are here...because of your birth, because of the blood that binds you to this house and to the kingdoms service..."
He looked sadly at his own hand, raised up toward the sky, it vanishing beneath his gaze.
"As am I" he whispered.

Suddenly I heard a small whimper and I turned towards it to see a large bundle of rags that I had not noticed before.
Wait, there was something in those rags, the barest hint of ashen skin, the gleam of red eyes that have dimmed with cruelty and justice.

"Lord Tadave Dres" The King said silkily
"Was once the lord protector and governor of the Dunmer city of Tear...His treatment and capture of Argonian slaves at the border was..." The king swallowed a grin
"Legendary...Wasn't it Lord Dres.."
The Dunmer let out a small cry, covering his face with his hands, which I noticed looked mangled and fractured.
"Please.."

"Please?" the king asked, his voice rich with malice.
"Please what? You should be so proud of yourself, the hatchings and men and woman from our tribes that you stole... and of course when house Dres decided that they didn't want to take our people anymore, why you..."
He turned to look at me
"Decided to flee and pawn your interests to other rulers...unfortunately you were just unlucky enough to stray too close to the Argonia border..." the last words he said were clipped, tuned, the pleasure from his voice gone.

"You are bound to this kingdom Teinaava" the king whispered, "And this kingdom needs justice for what has happened to it..." he clicked his fingers, a dagger appearing in his hands with a swirled of green smoke.

"I trust you know what to do..." he whispered, handing me the blade.

I closed my eyes as I did the deed, but it didn't stop the screaming.

When I had finished the king smiled, not with his lips but with his eyes and I could feel his warmth go through my bloody skin.
You did a great deed today fellow shadowscale he said, waving his hand out toward the window.

"The mane has begun to attack again, taking the lands that the imperials robbed...I think it is time that we make the Dunmer apologise for centuries of torture, theft, slavery and murder.."
He extended his hand to me.

"Can I count on your help?" he whispered.

Circumstances brought me here to Vvardenfell, a land that apparently was damned and reeking of a great blight..that was banished away.

"It is good to see you my brother" a voice hissed behind me.
"So you are still alive Chalur? I chuckled gazing at the shadowscale before me, his green eyes glimmering with fear, or shame.

"IT was difficult to escape but Vivec is not the fortress it once was..."
I looked at him quizzically "You got in?"
"Not very far" Chalur growled.
"Those foolish guards saw me and attacked, they all weild life detecting amulets now, no doubt made my the mages who slipped through our fingers..."
"But you got it?"
Chalur looked at me, a mischievous gleam in his emerald eyes.
Without another word he plunged his hands into his robes and pulled out, very softly a thin roll of paper.
"The plan of the city" he whispered.
"The locations of the waist-works, the hidden passages in and out and of course where all of the wepons are stored..."

I gave him a cold smile and took it off him.

"And you are sure it is authentic?" I hissed

Chalur looked offended and pointed to a part where I just unrolled.
"I used that passage there to get out...so" he shrugged.

I gave him a small, cold smile.

"So this time next week?"

"Vivec will fall" he cooed.

"And the Dunmer will too..."

______________-

[[Furan]]

The Nord led me away from the village, past the snow capped huts and towards a great frozen lake.

Before long we stopped at a small hut that seemed to have built only recently,the Nord knocked three times and whispered softly though a slit in the door.
"It's us"
When the door opened the first thing I noticed was how empty it seemd to be, until my guide led to the fire place, pulling back the grate to reveal a freezing iron ladder extending down below.

"How clever" I muttered, allowing him to go first

The first thing that I had noticed when I arrived was the smell, it was like the slums of a massive town where the people didn't wash for months on end, where went to the toilet on the streets and carried on like they were animals.
However once my eyes got used to the darkness they widened.

Cages, 5 meters tall and twenty meters wide the bars were grimy and covered with muck, as I bent over to touch one I heard a roar and something pounded against the slim walls.

"Great, another Dunmer!" I heard a hiss, the voice heavy with irony.
She was a Khajiit, wrapped in dirty robes and she looked at me with fiery eyes.

"You are Jiub I presume?" he Cyrodiilic was perfect, the rasp of her voice almost completely gone.

She sighed and looked at me, "Just...don't touch the bars, the soldiers will get angry..."

"Soldiers?"

her eyes narrowed as she looked at me closely.
"Didn't Lock tell you?"
she clicked her fingers, light swirling around her hand so I could take a better look.
Inside was a mass of bristled hair, white fangs, claws sharp enough to break bone.
"It is our means of getting our country back" she whispered.

I took a gasp and stepped back.
They were breeding werewolves.

This post has been edited by Fiach: Jul 19 2010, 12:00 PM

[haute ecole rider]

Wow!

how does one breed werewolves? I always thought those were created, not born. A question that may or may not be answered, it's up to you.

Do the Khajiit know what Pandora's Box they are opening with this venture? Another question that may or may not be answered.

[Fiach]

I spent a full week working in the pens, Sk'rivva watching my every move, her sleek voice tutoring me softly how to care for these 'delicate creatures.' The other workers stayed clear of me, their eyes averted but that was probably due to the tight ship that Sk'rivva ran.

'Don't touch the animals, the cages and definetly don't touch the istruments we use to otuch the animals or the cages...'
On the second day a group of seven or eight young dunmer came in, half naked and standing strong though I could see the fear in their eyes.
I watched as Sk'rivva nicked each of them with a small white dagger, said to be made from the bone of a great hunter.
Three days later they turned and I was forced to keep an eye on them.
One night I caught Sk'rivva inside one of the cages with one on its belly, moaning softly.
With a grunt Sk'Rivva stitched up the wounds on it's stomach.
"They fight each other you see..." she whispered softly as the werewolf scampered off to join its pack on the other side of the cage.
"Few have the willpower to turn back into a human you see.... But it does not matter..."

"But why are you doing this?" I asked, my eyes planted onto a large wolf snoring peacefully near the corner, a single gray streak running across its face.

Sk'rivva looked at me with a small frown.
"Because this is the only way we will get our country back...

We never talked after that meeting.
___

It really is beautiful up here...

Abigail stretched and looked over at the calm waters, there once a time where merchants and gondoliers sailed freely around the canton, selling wares and trading stories from lands far away.
She turned and walked through the marble halls, it was hard to believe that once pilgrims had flocked here from all of Morrowind, begging favor from Vivec or giving their afternoons up for silent prayers.
Abigail wondered where Vivec was, lost during the crisis.
It was possible he could have escaped, maybe he went to Akavir to find Furan...

Furan's name still gave a numb feel to her heart, as if the last few years had killed whatever was once there, not letting the memories reach the very core.
There was small grunt behind her.
It was that Akavir again...

Abgail sighed. Just Great
"What is it Haeil?" she asked, her voice slightly clipped.
"It's the walls" Haeil croaked, ignoring the expression on Abigail's face.
There was time to silently hate the old slag later....[/i]

_____


"Jiub" a voice muttered hoarsely.
I opened my eyes slowly to see Lock there, his dark face a little scratched.
"What is it?" I murmured, rubbing my eyes with a free hand.
"We have received word of... a possible invasion" Lock said, throwing me a small bag.
"An invasion?"
"Yes... Of Vivec... It's time to go"
___

"Lord Teinaava" the scout whispered, his scaly face shining from recently being in the water.
"What is it?" I growled, spending thirty hours awake hadn't done anything for my health, but there were many plans that needed to be put into action before the main invasion.

"We have a contingent of Shadowscales ready for orders, dunmer archers, khajiit skirmishers...."
I waved him away.
"How long will it take?"
"We shall be ready to move in a day sir..."I nodded and rubbing my hand over Almalexia's once great walls... now little more then rubble, its occupants now little more then slaves... A fiting end to such an evil place. And soon Vivec will join it in ruins...

____

Abigail's eyes widened, her hands shaked no matter how she hard she tried to still them, "Why didn't you tell me of this immdiatly?" she asked, her voice a deadly whisper.

"We thought it was foolish...a rumor but nothing else..." The ordinator's voice shook slightly, the last few years had been disaterous for their order, with no gods to follow and with less then a quarter of their original numbers to boot!
But the real fear came from what he held in his hand, a note, a warning. Sent by bird and arrived only minutes ago and written with a scrawly hand.
They're coming.

____

The boat from Ravenrock was captained by a young dunmer with hard, cold eyes. Rain was falling lightly against its wooden frame and cloth sails, bringing the a small rapping sound to my ears.
Lock shivered and held his blanket close to him, his breath little more then a vapour.
I wasn't doing to much better, Lock was telling me how the leader of the Vivec base was cold and strong, famous for breaking new recruits like myself between her fingers like autumn leaves.

The last thing I wanted was to be abused by some kind of battle witch who couldn't crack a smile if she tried... But Haeil will be there and that was something....
With a grunt from the captain the sails came loose and slowly but surely we began to move toward Khuul.


Here End Chapter Two

This post has been edited by Fiach: Jul 23 2010, 04:30 PM

[haute ecole rider]

I have a very strong sense of being set up for something more - a pretty good buildup of the strategy here.

makes me wonder what will happen next!

[Ornamental Nonsense]

Hello!

I like the thought that you put into your characters and their interactions with one another. It's obvious that you care about making them into very real, believable personalities.

As a criticism though, I've noticed throughout your chapters that your grammar is consistently skewed. You often try to make clauses into complete sentences (sometimes it can be effective to let a clause stand alone, but not often.), or you connect complete sentences to others without a conjunction, as if they were clauses instead of sentences. Your story would be much improved if you fixed this, whether it's a simple editing mistake or an oversight, because even with interesting content, I keep pausing while I'm reading to think, "Well, that sentence structure doesn't work."

And this is just a comment to help you improve, so please don't take it in the wrong light. We all make grammar mistakes, but when they become too noticeable, it seriously detracts from the story. Your ideas are good, and you should want the reader to focus on that.