Light through Darkness, You asked for it, so here you go. Options

[Acadian]

Well, out of the woods, but. . .

Vampires, the Worm King, Dagon. Teekeus the turncoat. There is certainly some mystery brewing here!

[SubRosa]

Our hero has escaped from Mirkwood, with nary a giant spider in sight (lucky this is not Skyrim! ).

You would do best to stick to the roads now, Bosmer.
Heresy!

I wanted to enjoy being freed from Mephala’s clutches as best I could
Faith was not that bad.

So Faith/Sera (I prefer Sera as a name myself, the Faith in BtVS ruined that name for me) is a secret agent of vampire hunters? Or perhaps the Mythic Dawn, given the name of her secret society? I figured she had to be some kind of spy, rather than just your run-of-the-mill stalker. She did not seem crazy enough to be the latter. Or perhaps she is an agent of the vampires? Now that would be an interesting twist.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Mar 10 2011, 02:54 AM

[Thomas Kaira]

@haute ecole rider: I can assure you that there will be no Blond Bravilian Bowgirls in-the-buff involved in this order. They take their name from a different source. Buffy the Bowgirl has no intentions of becoming a vampire slayer, Azura's Chosen, and I wish to honor her decision.
Nits be picked.

@ghastley: Twilight and dawn are two sides of the same coin.

@mALX: Surprise surprise! I heartily enjoy taking my stories along twisty-turny roads where you don't know what's going to happen next. The poltline for this one is already pretty complex, and gets even more so every day. The pressure is now on me to make sure I leave none of the threads dangling. With luck, and a good sense of where things are going, though, we might have a Berber rug similar to the one hanging on my wall in terms of storytelling, though. (And yes, I mean a genuine Berber rug that I purchased in Morocco.)

@Acadian: Mystery that will only get deeper as time progresses... I love to keep you people guessing.

@SubRosa: I am not even close to done with being an evil, evil man. I will feast upon your Arachnophobia... and I will like it!

@all: So, now that our harrowing venture into Fangorn Forest the Ancient Yews has ended, it's time to take stock of the situation and get back into the normal routine of life in Tamriel... or are we?

next: We arrive in Vergayun, for dinner and a good night's sleep.

Chapter 5-1: Rest and Relaxation

“Welcome to Vergayun, Bosmer,” A guard clad in padded white chain mail bearing the crest of a noble-antlered deer upon the front greeted me. The day was late now, most of it spent upon the great span across the Niben. It was with great relief that I found myself approaching the tiny port village on the coast. This was my first sight of civilization in four days time. Finally, the chance for a hot meal, a warm, blazing fire, and a pillow beneath my head.

“I wish to stay at the inn, do you know where I might find it?” I asked the guard.

“The Clam’s Shell,” he indicated a large thatch-roofed building on the hilltop. “Food and bed for all travelers. You may want to avoid the Slaughterfish Surprise if this is your first time here, though. It takes a bit of… getting used to,” the guard added, a light grimace crossing his face.

“Thank you for the warning,” I replied. “Is there anything you would suggest?”

“Oh, yes indeed,” The guard answered, “The clam chowder is quite excellent. Buy it with sourdough bread and a warm sweetcake. Best food you’ll find for miles.”

“I appreciate your help,” came my response, “good evening.”

The village of Vergayun was quite small. It had a decent sized dock, where now a large ship was moored. The boat looked like a trading cog, due to the expansive belly that made it look rather portly. Several sailors milled about the ship, clad in flax tunics and chewing tobacco as they loaded and unloaded cargo. On a second, smaller dock nearby, several men were retrieving fishing rods and pots, hauling them back to their damp wooden homes. They would probably be up well before the sun tomorrow to set them back, I mused as I strode along the creaky planks.

The way soon turned to a small dirt road as it meandered onwards to the inn. As I began to trek upwards, my mind returned to the blood-chilling letter I had received earlier today. Faith was a member of a group of vampire hunters, it told me. She was tracking me because an ancient was stalking me. I had no idea what an ancient was, so I could only assume it was a vampire that was extra-mean. But still, was I in that much danger the whole time I was here? Why was I even traveling at all if doing so might put my life at such risk?

Relax, Dere. The roads are well patrolled and the cities well fortified. If these hunters had truly felt my life would be at risk from traveling, why didn’t Faith try to escort me someplace safe after we escaped the yews? Perhaps they are trying not to impede too much on my life? I had to appreciate these nameless hunters for that, and for their trust that I would not go astray. At this a sharp stab of guilt penetrated my stomach, I had gone astray. This did a lot for explaining Faith’s annoyance throughout the trip; I had betrayed their trust... her trust. I had a feeling I was lucky that she felt I deserved another chance after nearly getting her killed three times in as many days. As I strode through the creaky wooden door of the Clam’s Shell, I made a silent vow: never again would I betray that trust.




----




“Greetings, Forest-dweller,” The soothing low tones of the Dunmer publican greeted me as the moist wooden planks swung shut behind me. “Welcome to the Clam’s Shell, famed for its clam chowder and Slaughterfish Surprise! Have you been long traveling?”

“You have no idea,” I replied with barely repressed tiredness, finding a seat. The publican was simply dressed in blue and green, and her age was betrayed through light flecks of white in her dark brown hair. Her fiery eyes were alight with energy; so much so you could almost see the ghost of a namesake volcano behind them. Her face was clear and calm, lending an air of security and belonging to the room. One could probably look into her eyes and see their mother gazing back at them.

It then struck me that I was staring. It had been so long since I had seen such a caring, tender gaze that I found myself awash in it. My face grew hot as I tore my eyes away from her.

“I’m sorry, have I offended?” She then asked me, breaking my reverie.

“Wha… oh, sorry. No, you haven’t. You just reminded me of someone… someone I knew.”

“Oh,” she replied, “Must have been someone dear to you, your gaze was quite intense.” She then ducked beneath the counter I was sat behind, placed a wooden cup beside me, and filled it with water from a crude stone pitcher.

“Thank you,” I responded, taking the cup into my hands. “Say, why do you call it ‘Slaughterfish Surprise’?”

“Because you never know what you’ll get, of course!” She answered, laughter gleaming in her eyes now. “I’ve had some break into song over it, and you wouldn’t believe what goes on in some of the minds we have here, particularly the fishermen. It is adventure in a bowl! Would you care to try it?”

My mind suddenly flashed back to a Nord dancing around on a tabletop waving his shirt through the air. I was suddenly overcome with a strange urge to laugh, and at the same time a strong urge to vomit.

“Maybe another time,” I turned down her offer. “I hear the clam chowder is very good here, though?”

“You heard correctly, then, dear. Five drakes for one bowl, or free if you wish to stay the night.”

As I was planning to stay the night here, I thought I might as well take her up on her offer.

“And how much for a bed?” I asked.

“Ten Drakes.” She replied. It was much easier to part with the sum now that I had a small pile of Septims jingling away in my pocket. I would need to be careful not to spend it all in one place. The coins spent only a second on the counter top before the publican’s deft hands whisked them away.

“Oh, my… where are my manners?” She suddenly voiced as she turned towards a large kettle on the stone range behind her. “I didn’t even ask your name. I’m Dorisa Thelas.”

“I’m Derelas,” I returned as she placed a large bowl of red tomato filled soup before me.

“It’s Rumare style, with tomatoes instead of the cream you would normally find in Nibenese style,” Dorisa explained as I picked up my spoon. “Much heartier, too. I like to switch between the two from time to time. It keeps things fresh.”

“It’s delicious all the same,” I replied. A subtle sweetness broke through the acidity of the tomatoes from the mixture of carrots and bell peppers. Each bite contained a healthy portion of clam meat, well prepared and not even slightly rubbery. The dish was made complete with the savory touch of potato.

“Enjoy yourself,” Dorisa chimed, leaving a small loaf of flour-dusted bread next to my bowl. She then moved to assist the several people who had just filed inside as I tore a chunk of the crisp-crusted bread away to dip into the bowl.




----




The clear blue glow of ancient crystals beckoned me forward. Though instinct told me what was within these crumbling halls would mean my death, I could not stop my feet from taking step after step closer to the beckoning darkness. All that mattered was what lay at the end.

After what seemed like hours, the constricting walls beside me vanished. I now strode into a gigantic chamber bathed in red light. My mind screamed at me to stop, to turn, to leave, but it had parted from my body entirely. As I stepped to the lip of a grand stairwell, he came forward.

The figure of shadow, eyes aflame in the gloom of his hood. He stepped downward towards me ever so slowly. Every footstep he made resounded like thunder within a collapsing cavern. As the distance closed, he reached for his pommel, drawing a blade that was both dazzlingly beautiful, and woefully terrible. It, like he, sapped the light from the air around it. The elegantly carved hilt was stained with black taint unlike any I had seen before. Though the blade still sang, it had lost its sheen and now oozed darkness from every lip of its masterfully engraved surface.

At arms length from me, the man stopped. He held the blade so I might see it, allowing me to feast my eyes on its horrid majesty. He then drew it back, and thrust it forward, skewering my heart upon the razor-sharp tip.

The world disappeared into blackness….




----




My face stung with needles as I jerked awake, and then I froze. Two cloaked figures stood above me, swords drawn for Coup-de-Grace, and tips aimed for my stomach.

_______________________________________________


Post Script: Rumare Clam Chowder and Nibenese Clam Chowder are TES-ified versions of Manhattan Clam Chowder and New England Clam Chowder, respectively.

For those interested, the village was based off of this mod.

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: Mar 7 2011, 03:39 AM

[haute ecole rider]

Quite enjoyable, especially the two versions of the clam chowder. I think I would quite enjoy the Rumare version so much more, too (prefer tomato sauces over cream/cheese sauces every tiime).

Talendor's ponderings about the hunters and vampires is quite informative and sets up the emotional atmosphere in a wonderful way.

And the plot thickens. What a nightmare, and what a way to wake up from it!

I do have a nit:

“Enjoy yourself,” Dorisa chimed, leaving a small loaf of floury-crusted bread next to my bowl. She then moved to assist the several people who had just filed inside as I tore a chunk of the crisp-crusted bread away to dip into the bowl.

Having crusted so close together is a bit disruptive to the flow. As I can see the bread has a dusting of flour on it, how about a small loaf of flour-dusted bread and keeping the crisp-crusted bread in the second instance? Just a suggestion!

[SubRosa]

So given your remark to ghastley about Twilight, does that mean Derelas will have to choose between a brooding vampire or a hunky werewolf to be his b/f?

I love Fangorn Forest! I remember when I first saw it in the movies, I simply fell in love with the place.

Now, onto the actual story. I always find myself struggling for names of places like inns. The Clam's Shell is an excellent one for a seaside village!

Slaughterfish Surprise
I am afraid to ask what the surprise is! Frickken laser beams in their eyes?

you could almost see the ghost of a namesake volcano behind them
An excellent description!

And trust captain cook to give us a tasty meal. I love Manhattan Rumare Clam Chowder. It is has that extra spicy kick that the Nibenean kind lacks. Although I still like the latter as well.

Finally, another of Dere's strange dreams with Lucien Lacroix. Only to wake up to find cliff hanging again!

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Mar 6 2011, 10:17 PM

[Acadian]

Neat inn. I'd like the Nibenese clam chowder in a bread bowl and a goblet of Tamika's, please. Yum!

'I had no idea what an ancient was, so I could only assume it was a vampire that was extra-mean. '
Yikes. I agree.

A cliffie!

Nit:
'Dorisa chimed, leaving a small loaf of flour-drusted bread next to my bowl.'
An edit to the edit is needed. Lol.

[TheOtherRick]

Ok...I am caught up again. Really great stuff! So much going on now and a plot that gets thicker and thickerer. Could Teekeeus' sinister side be the "dasterdly idea" you spoke of in Talendor comments? As always, the food makes my mouth water while reading. I must confess to being more of a Nibenese chowder fan myself. Anyway, it's good to be caught up and looking forward to more.

[mALX]

Thank you for linking the mod so we can get an idea of the place!!!

This was my fave line, Heartstopping !!!

At arms length from me, the man stopped. He held the blade so I might see it, allowing me to feast my eyes on its horrid majesty. He then drew it back, and thrust it forward, skewering my heart upon the razor-sharp tip.

The world disappeared into blackness….

You could have ended it right there for the shocking cliffhanger - either way, Great Write !!

[Grits]

Chapter 4-7 The suffocating canopy we had dwelled under for the past three days had been left behind, and now the forest floor breathed again.

Just wanted to mention how much I like this phrasing.

“You fared pretty well, yourself, you know,” Faith responded, the ghost of bashfulness betrayed by her eyes. “I could say the same thing.”

“Oh, well… thanks.” I could feel my face warming slightly at her words, and it had nothing to do with the rising sun. I forced myself to look into her own eyes before I continued, “Are you coming, then, watcher?”

As well as this sweet and delicate exchange.

The plot is getting complex, I need to start taking notes!!

Chapter 5-1 It then struck me that I was staring. It had been so long since I had seen such a caring, tender gaze that I found myself awash in it. My face grew hot as I tore my eyes away from her.

A reminder that Derelas is far from home, and alone. I can’t decide between Rumare style or Nibenese chowders. I’ll have to try another bowl of each, please.

[Thomas Kaira]

@haute ecole rider: Must be your Sicilian heritage speaking there! I would assume things would be much different had your ancestors been born a couple hundred miles further north. By the way, Talendor? I think you have the wrong Bosmer there. I know, I know, there's now... what, four Bosmer-centric tales here? It can get a little tough to keep track sometimes.
Nit be picked.

@SubRosa: I'm sorry, but we will be seeing none of David Borenaz or Seth Green in this fic.

@Acadian: Surely Buffy would know just how big a meanie-head a vampire can be, and that's just a lowly broodspawn!
Picked nit be picked yet again.

@Rick: You haven't even seen the first bit of my dastardlyness! I have a few plans in store for you that might just send you to the doctor because your brain exploded! (Well, in reality, I just love a good plot twist.)

@sporky-eared squirrel: I don't think a dream sequence is a good place to end things if you want a good cliffhanger. The cardinal problem with doing so is that the reader knows that what is happening is not real and will most likely be resolved by the protagonist waking up. It's sort of a cliffhanger, but the readers feet can feel the ground as they dangle, which completely defeats the purpose. That is why I returned us to reality before I left you dangling, because then you know that the cacat is about to hit the fan.

@Grits: Thank you for your approval on those rather tender moments in Derelas' life.

@all: Thank you all for sharing your clam chowder preference. If you wish to know, mine is Manhattan, or in this case Rumare.

next: Assassins!

Chapter 5-2: A New Foe

In the split second between my awakening and my finding two figures poised to rob me of my life, a knife hissed through the air. Caught unawares, the assassin to my left flinched violently to avoid the glinting blade, which crashed into a nearby wall before falling to the floor. Without a single thought as to what might happen to me, I kicked out at the assassin whose blade remained poised to taste my blood. My feet collided with his chest, and he keeled over, nearly winded and only barely clutching the hilt of his weapon. Swords clashed behind me as the second assassin engaged his unknown aggressor.

I lunged to wrest the blade from the cloaked figure’s hands, but in a heartbeat, he had redoubled his grip. As my fingers fruitlessly closed about the pommel, he flicked it away as he might a stubborn fly. I could barely make out a grin crossing his shadowed lips as he raised the blade to bite my neck.

I dived aside, a sharp sting quickly building in my right arm. I then knew then the assassin had tasted blood. As the sting escalated to a screaming burn, I caught gaze of the knife my savior had thrown, still quivering where it had pierced the floor, and just within my reach. My uninjured arm clasped the hilt, drawing it forth as the black-robed figure appeared above me, poising himself for another Coup-de-Grace. In his overconfidence, I had my moment; I thrust the knife upward….

The assassin then screamed in pain, clutching for his manhood where blood now oozed as if from some perverted fountain. His blade clattered to the ground. Not a second later, a heavy thud denoted a large body hitting the floor. I peered through the nauseating spectacle before me to see the second black-robed man sprawled unmoving upon the ground.

At this point, a searing pain gave stark reminder of the wound upon my arm. I turned to view the deep gash left upon me, a ghastly reminder of how close I had come to death’s embrace. The cut was clean, denoting a viciously sharp edge upon the blade, and was bleeding freely. A moan of pain escaped my lips as I gripped the deep gash within my good hand, watching as the blood spilled through my fingers.

“Thank the Gods…” came Faith’s voice as she shoved aside the now castrated assassin, who was too busy with either the pain or humiliation to care. “Are you alright?”

“Not by much, but I’m alive,” I replied, gritting my teeth as a fresh wave of white-hot pain threatened to spill more than blood upon the floorboards. Faith quickly dipped into her traveling pack, drew forth a vial of swirling red liquid, and handed it to me. I drained the healing potion in one gulp, and felt the pain dissipate to a dull throb as the bleeding slowed. It did not cease, though, and the wound remained open, yawning its defiance.

“Cacat,” Faith voiced, “This is a lot worse than I thought. You’re going to need to see a healer about this. Let me see that dagger.”

I handed her the blade now on the floor next to me as she took a length of black robe from the nearby defeated assassin. Holding it firm and stretched, she sliced a long, thin ribbon from the cloth. With that done, she wrapped it around the wound as tightly as she could, tying it off with a complex knot. My arm now felt very numb, but I knew this was better than bleeding to death.

“Who were these guys, by the way?” I asked, “And how did you know to know to come here? I thought you were on your way back to the Imperial City.”

“I had a feeling,” Faith replied, “I don’t know why, or who or what told me, I just felt I needed to get back to you as quickly as I could.” She turned her gaze to the blackness of the midnight sky, stars twinkling through a lone window. “If I had been but a second later… I don’t even want to think about that.”

She then snapped her deep red eyes back to my own. “We need to get you someplace safe as soon as possible.”

“Well, could you tell me who these people were, first?” I asked, now mildly irritated. I didn’t think now was the time to keep any secrets about whom we were facing. “I know they’re dangerous, but I think I deserve the truth about this. Were these the ancient’s men?”

“No,” Faith responded, eying the twitching body of the assassin I had crippled and shifting her footing as if discomforted. “They are Dark Brotherhood, an ancient group of assassins in the service of the Dread Father Sithis. I would like to say that makes things better, but since you want the truth, it does not. If someone has contracted your life to them, they will not cease their pursuit until they have claimed it.”

My mind was racing, struggling to make sense of things. When my parents disappeared, it was all I could promise myself to discover why. Now, not even a month into my journey to find them again, I had an ancient vampire spying on my every move. Not only that, but an ancient sect of murderers wished to make sport of me, now, too. Could my life possibly get any worse?

“Well, surely we aren’t going to leave now?” I asked once my melancholy had passed. “It’s pitch-black outside, with no moon to light the road. Don’t you think we’d be a bit vulnerable to attack?”

“I know,” Faith replied, taking a seat on a nearby bed. “We will leave at first light tomorrow morning. We should be able to make Bravil by mid-afternoon if we do not stray from the road.”

“And when we arrive?” I continued to inquire.

“Go to the hall of the Guild of Fighters and ask for Tadrose Helas.” Faith responded. “Tell her Sera Dresdan has sent you to her, she’ll understand why, and she’ll keep the Brotherhood away from you as best she can.”

“I’m not sure I would trust a band of mercenaries,” I mused skeptically. Sure the Fighters Guild had honor, but from my experiences with them it was found on the head of a Septim more than anything else. I couldn’t be sure this was the best idea if Faith expected this to be done gratis.

“You can trust Tadrose,” Faith pointedly replied. “She may be a bit rough around the edges, but she knows how this world works. Like I said, just tell her I sent you, and she’ll understand.”

“Well, I guess I don’t have much choice,” came my response. It had become rather obvious to both of us now that keeping me alive, if that was still the intentions of Faith’s order, could not be done by her alone. I had occasionally heard whispers of the savagery inflicted by the Brotherhood back home. Tales of grand nobles’ spectacular ends by their hands, heart and head separated from body and hung for all to see. If Faith thought she would need help, It was probably best I address her concerns, and fast.

It was at this point that the innkeeper arrived alongside two guards in stag-crested armor. Their clanky footfalls preceded them well before they crested the stairs into the loft in which we stood.

“What in Oblivion… what happened here?!” One of the guards exclaimed as Dorisa shrunk away from the violence of the scene, looking very sick. His Imperial voice rang with conviction, causing me to shrink away in submission. Now I understood why they were known for their charisma. “You two, explain yourselves!”

“They were Dark Brotherhood, sir.” Faith responded calmly, unfazed by the Guard’s aggression. “They were after my friend here.”

The guard promptly bent down to check the body of the dead assassin. A low groan soon sounded from the direction of the other body, which I now noticed was moving. The guard quickly abandoned his search of the body, crossed the room in two strides, and swung himself forward to grab him. I noticed him blanch considerably when he noticed the assassin’s injury, but he quickly recovered.

“Who are you? What happened here? Answer quickly!” the guard interrogated the man. Before he could continue, there was an incredible yell of pain. The guard recoiled back from the dark-robed man, a black dagger embedded in his thigh.

“In Sithis’ name… I still my tongue….” The assassin breathed, his voice laden with contempt.

“So be it,” the guard answered quietly. He then drew his silver blade, swung it high, and brought it down upon the assassin’s neck.




----




“…and then Faith arrived and we fought them.” I limply finished recapping the story to the guard. His leg was now bandaged and he walked with a heavy limp. We had been moved downstairs while the uninjured guard investigated the bodies for any evidence they might be carrying.

“It’s remarkable you survived,” Dorisa chimed in. “When the Brotherhood calls assassins to a man’s nightstand, they almost never fail.”

“And they won’t let this stop them, they will try again,” the guard continued, his voice heavy with displeasure. “You two must leave Vergayun as soon as possible. The villagers will be fearful of your presence should you remain, and thus I cannot allow you to stay.”

“We mean to leave by dawn,” I responded to the guard’s concerns. “We do not wish to endanger your residents any more than you do.”

“Good,” the guard replied, a good deal of tension leaving his strained features. “I’m sorry to have to kick you out of our village so unceremoniously, but I do not wish to put the citizens at risk. Where do you plan to go?”

“Bravil,” came Faith’s reply. “I have some friends there that can help with this.”

The guard gave a dark chuckle when he heard the name of the city. “You’d better,” he responded, “thieves own that city. You’d be safer at the bottom of the Niben than you would to trust your hands in Count Terentius’s guard. Rotten to the core, they are.”

“We don’t plan on even getting close to them,” Faith quickly replied. “I have some friends in the Fighters Guild down there that I trust.”

The guard grunted, but didn’t speak any further on the matter. At this point, clanking footsteps announced the arrival of the second guard.

“They had nothing,” he reported. “Nothing we could use to track them. No evidence whatsoever.”

“Damn,” the first guard replied, shaking his head. “Well, you two had better get some rest before you leave in the morning. I’ll have Gaius here keep an eye on you, but I need to get a report written for His High Majesty Terentius.” He placed as much contempt as he dared into the last four words.

“You don’t think much of him, do you?” I asked the guard as he limped towards the door. He then turned back to look at me, a somber expression upon his lined face.

“No, sonny, I don’t. He doesn’t give a cliffracer’s beak about his citizens and would prefer to just let us rot while he drowns himself in Skooma and wine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving us to fight for what little rest we could hope for.

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: Mar 10 2011, 03:10 AM

[mALX]

The fight scene was ...uh...feel...funny... * mALX turned green * very graphic and detailed... * urg *... powerfully realistic... * gaaaack *


This line is outstanding! :

Sure the Fighters Guild had honor, but from my experiences with them it was found on the head of a Septim more than anything else.

Oooh! Tadrose to the rescue !!!

@sporky-eared squirrel:

SPEW !!!

And the mystery of why continues! Great Chapter !!!


*

[haute ecole rider]

Arrgh! I was afraid I was getting the two mixed up! I even peeked to make sure, damn it! My apologies to you, I hope Dere wasn't too offended at being mistaken for that other Bosmer (like most males tend to be ).

Without a single thought as to what might happen to me, I kicked out at the assassin who’s blade remained poised to taste my blood.

It's highly amusing to me to read your very constructive criticism on another thread regarding its and it's, only to encounter the same mistake in your own fiction regarding who's and whose. I must patiently bring to your attention that who breaks the same so-called rules as it - who's is a contraction of who is, while whose is the possessive form.

And another nit:

“They were Dark Brotherhood, sir.” Faith responded calmly, unphased by the Guard’s aggression.

I think you want unfazed here.

And actually, my Italian ancestors are from a little bit north of Sicily. Palermo, to be exact. But I'm at least a generation removed from the classic Italian/Sicilian rivalry, so I don't buy into it all that much. The southern cuisine is awesome! Nuttin like fresh tomaters! I'm right there with that crazy Skingrad Dunmer lady.

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Mar 9 2011, 03:49 PM

[Thomas Kaira]

Without a single thought as to what might happen to me, I kicked out at the assassin who’s blade remained poised to taste my blood.

It's highly amusing to me to read your very constructive criticism on another thread regarding its and it's, only to encounter the same mistake in your own fiction regarding who's and whose. I must patiently bring to your attention that who breaks the same so-called rules as it - who's is a contraction of who is, while whose is the possessive form.

Well, at least I admitted to my guilt of this error....

The difference between it's and its sticks out to me a lot more than who's and whose, even though they are exactly the same exception. I'll get it eventually, though...

They shall now be recorded in big bold letters on my front page so I might never make this error again.

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: Mar 9 2011, 04:04 PM

[TheOtherRick]

And now the Dark Brotherhood enter's the picture. This could be a short story indeed for poor Derelas. Who will be after the poor guy next? Great installment here...keeping us all intrigued.

I did find one nit...

His Imperial voice rang with conviction, causing my to shrink away in submission.
I'm assuming this should be me.

Looking forward to more...story that is...not nits....

[SubRosa]

Hmmm, we have three tales of Bosmer boys, and two of Bosmer girls here at Chorrol. For the race that is usually picked on as 'most hated' or 'most annoying' in forum polls, wood elves are certainly popular in fiction!

Well that was an exciting conclusion to cliff's hanging! Once again Sera saves the day. Is that the third time now she has saved Dere's bacon?

Hmm, Ancient Vampires, Dark Brotherhood, Derelas certainly has a way of getting people mad at him! Who next!

Next it is off to Bravil, to see no less than Tadrose Helas! Oh wait, wrong Bosmer going to see Tadrose... I guess Dere would not be as excited.

He doesn’t give a cliffracer’s beak
No one wants to give that cliffracer's beak away, it must sure be nice! Seriously, I love the little setting-friendly terms you have woven into your tale, such as the head of a septim.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Mar 11 2011, 12:15 AM

[Acadian]

This was nicely done, with plenty of time spent to fully develop the exciting fight with the assassins and the aftermath that followed.

Nice to see Faith again, albeit the circumstances were less than ideal! I enjoyed both what we learned from Faith and the whole scene involving the guards.

Lots of possibilities tug at the mind as for a cause for this attack by the Dark Brotherhood. Lead on!

[Thomas Kaira]

@mALX: I hope you didn't vomit, your car has enough problems as it is without you needing to clean sick out of the back-seat, too.

@haute ecole rider: Well, that was an embarrassing nit-catch.Time for me to keep a closer eye on that one.
And don't worry too much about mixing up the names, I'll only torture you slowly and flay you alive!

@TheOtherRick: Hopefully not that short, now that we know Tadrose will be on the case.
Nit be picked.

@SubRosa: "Cliffracer's beak" is essentially a TES-ified version of "flying (you know)." After playing Morrowind for awhile, that's essentially what I felt they were like, little flying (bleep)s. It eventually got so bad that I installed a plugin specifically to pacify the bloody things. Now they are much easier to tolerate.

@Acadian: Happy you enjoyed the brief, but gruesome tussle. We will learn more about Bravil very soon.

@all: As I recall, Bravil is a city very important to several characters on this board. I must give forewarning that some might not approve of what I have done to the place. This is because I write my descriptions based on what I see in my game, and thus Bravil is receiving a bit of an overhaul. I hope I can be forgiven.

next: We arrive at Bravil, the jewel of the Niben (or so they say).

Chapter 5-3: Bravil

The crumbling stone walls of the township rose upwards from the sea, the mossy crags giving me a strange image of them being sunken not long ago. Many of the crenellations were missing, and almost every watch tower was topped not with reinforced stone, but with rotting wood. The gatehouse bore several ballistae, aimed across the cliffs of the rocky moat that encircled the city. Access to the stag-embroidered gates was provided by a shaky-looking rope bridge. The nauseatingly sweet smell of decaying flesh preceded the multiple corpses hung in perpetuity on the farther side from the walls. Not two feet away from the hung bodies, a great wooden sign bore a simple phrase:

“Welcome to Bravil.”

Removing my eyes from the disgustingly sardonic sight, I caught Faith’s gaze and raised my eyebrows. Unseen words passed between us as we considered the run-down façade. I found myself questioning if I would really be safe here; safe in a town that considered execution and decay a comforting welcome home.

The air of neglect did not end with the city, however, not even close. The wilderness surrounding Bravil was a myriad of forgotten structures and overgrown fields. The wide, deliberate spacing of several of those fields led me to believe they were once farmland, their owners long since driven away. The crumbling ruins of nearby homes, their thatch completely rotted away, gave air to a long since past grandeur. The border watch tower for the county stood wrapped in a thin layer of cobwebs, having lain abandoned for centuries. Fungi grew with voracious vigor upon trees, rocks, fences; pretty much anything it could grab hold of. Faith actually ended up picking several of the more colorful varieties, as did I. Yellow cinnabar polyphore, for example, had marvelous restorative capabilities, excellent for the heart and lungs. We also harvested several heads of lavender, which Faith then showed me how to brew together with the equally widespread cairn bolete into a potion for restoring lost blood. This was particularly helpful for me, as my smarting wound was still in need of a healer’s touch.

Crossing the rickety old bridge was harrowing; it felt as if every step had to be chosen with care lest we tumble to our doom on the jagged rocks below. It was quite a relief to me when my feet found solid ground that didn’t ominously creak as if it was about to splinter. No guard stood at the gates to allow us entry, so I assumed that we were intended to admit ourselves. A push of the gate revealed it to be unlocked, and the dull creak of the wrought-iron hinges reverberated throughout the stone. With another shove, the gate swung open enough to admit me, and I ventured through the portal.

The city of Bravil proper immediately struck me as a place that had grown far too much far too fast. Every building was constructed of old, musty timber. There was very little architectural style to the buildings, leading me to conclude that several were built by the very people who dwelled within them. Many were haphazardly erected atop already existing structures, where the lack of skilled craftsmanship was further reinforced by their ominous tilting. It made me feel quite uneasy walking the narrow streets. It felt as if these extensions growing from the other buildings like tumors might come crashing down at any moment, crushing all who stood beneath them in an avalanche of splintered wood and rusted nails. The streets themselves were hard enough to negotiate as they were. Every inch of them not covered by moss and fungi was taken up by the remains of crates and barrels now so rotten even fire would reject them. Given the pervasive smell, it would also seem that wood was hardly the most popular fuel in this city, as well.

Eventually the constricting alleys opened onto a large square dominated by a great statue. The limestone effigy took the appearance of a proud, but caring old lady, her wrinkled hands reaching down to take the outstretched fingers of a young child. Many people stared upon her face, apparently awestruck, and I also saw someone walk up to the statue and kiss the cheek of the old lady.

“The Lucky Old Lady,” Faith responded to my unvoiced question in an unnaturally heavy voice. “It is rumored that to give her a kiss will bring you good fortune.”

“Have you tried before?” I asked.

“Only once,” Faith replied, her eyes glossing over. The threatening tears and rising color in her face made me quickly reconsider pressing the subject.

To the south of the great statue, the square became an open-air marketplace. It was packed to the britches with man, mer, and beast-folk milling about the canvas-covered stalls. Every so often I could catch the shouting of merchants advertising their products for all ears to hear:

“Fine mountain spring water, fresh from the Ethe! You have never had clearer water than this, my friends!”

“The finest game your tongue will touch! Such tender meat will melt upon your tasting! Come, sample! You have never tasted such finery before!”

“Only the finest forcemeats and sausages you will find here, my friends! Bold flavor at the price of the Era, for no one comes between a man and his sausage!”

We skirted the outside of the market to avoid the worst of the crowd, finding another narrow alleyway that brought us to the wider High Street. It was here that many of the more successful merchants had set roots into the moist soil of the city streets. Their shops had walls and doors, as well as colorful signs to advertise their presence. They were dedicated to such goods as archery gear and scribed spells. The presence of more pawnbrokers than there were more selective merchants did not escape me, though. This was a city of abject poverty, and I was fairly certain that few who lived here would be able to afford the finer goods that the specialized merchants tended to offer.

At the end of High Street stood a building constructed haphazardly of timber and hewn stone. It would have been unremarkable, save for the familiar blue and gold symbol of an eye fixing me with its persistent stare. All the trouble of this past week just to get to that one little building, I mused. I never thought traveling could be such a fraught activity. Unfortunately, the Guild of Mages would have to wait, for there was still the ordeal of my protection to attend to, and Faith would certainly have none of my wanderings.

The Guild of Fighters stood on the opposite end of High Street, its presence advertised by deep red banners with artistically woven blades upon them. Once the two of us found ourselves at the stairwell leading to the single creaky doorway, Faith halted.

“Well, here you are,” she told me. “Head inside and speak to Tadrose.”

“You’re not coming along?” I asked.

“No, you’re in safe hands now, and I really do need to get back to Cyrodiil City,” Faith responded, turning away. “Just do what Tadrose says, and you’ll be fine.”

“Then safe travels to you,” I bade her as she retreated up the muddy road. She raised a hand in farewell as a response.




----




The interior of the guild gave stark contrast to the cold, passionless façade it shared with almost every other building in the city. A fire roared away upon a stone hearth, where several vases of colorful flowers added a delightfully whimsical touch. A large dining table sat nearby, many chairs encircling it, though only one spot was actually set for a meal. The lobby into which I stepped was lined with racks upon racks of expertly sharpened blades and axes. Several carefully crafted bows with shining steel ears were displayed above them, and arrow-filled quivers were not far to be found. Several wooden dummies also stood along the walls, and many were clad in heavy mail that would certainly have floored me if I were to try it on. The guild was mostly empty, save for two members sparring together in the nearby ring and a single steel-skinned young man who was now making to greet me.

“Welcome to the Guild of Fighters,” the man who I decided was a porter greeted me formally. His sing-song voice gave him away as a Breton. “If you are looking to join, I am afraid our senior officer is away on official business right now, so you will have to return another time.”

My curiosity got the better of me. “What sort of official business?” I asked before I could catch myself. The porter looked slightly taken aback at my directness, but seemed to recover once he caught the embarrassment flooding my cheeks.

“You know of what happened at Kvatch, correct?” the porter asked me. I nodded my assent. “Well, believe it or not, someone managed to infiltrate and close the last remaining Oblivion Gate outside the city.”

“Really?” I interrupted. “Who?”

“Reports are conflicted,” the Breton responded, “Most say it was a Redguard with hair white as the highest peaks of Hrothgar itself, but others swear it was blond Nord who could not be touched by the Daedra’s magic. No one is really sure, but they have already started calling this person the Hero of Kvatch.

“Nevertheless, the remaining garrison of the city has called for reinforcements for a counter-offensive,” the porter continued. “Unfortunately, given the political strain the death of the Emperor has caused throughout Tamriel, the number of available Legion cohorts grows thin. Between the fall of the city and the closing of the Gate, not even a single conturbernii responded. They have since extended their plea for help to any organized fighting force who might be willing. Pappy was one of the first to respond.”

“Pappy?” I inquired.

“Our Commander, Gaius Vitellus. He took three units, ten fighters each, and left just yesterday,” the porter answered. “He left Tadrose in charge. Unfortunately she doesn’t possess the power to introduce new members, however she is quite well respected. Perhaps you wish to speak to her?”

“Yes, actually,” I responded. The porter beckoned me to follow.

He led me down into the rough stone basement, and the intense heat within immediately assaulted my eyes. Blinking away the dryness, I was able to discern the presence of a large forge, where a lithe, muscular Dunmer was hammering away at a blade glowing like Magnus itself with heat. Her flax shirt was stained with soot and sweat, and many strands of her black hair had fallen away from their tight bun from her exertions. I assumed she must have been Tadrose, given she was the only one besides me and the porter here.

“Ma’am?” the porter called out over the clanging of her mallet. She proceeded to stop and look up. “Is this a bad time?”

“It’s alright, Vincent, I was just finishing up,” Tadrose replied, sweeping loose strands of hair from her eyes as she quickly transferred the blade from her anvil to an iron trough filled with water. The resulting cloud of steam nearly turned the basement into a sauna. “What is it?” she then asked the porter.

“Someone to see you,” Vincent replied, retreating up the stairs back to his post.

“Thank you,” Tadrose called after him as he shut the door behind him. She then turned her fiery Dunmer eyes to me. “I apologize for my unkemptness,” she began, “but we are operating a bit of a tight ship at the moment. I’m Tadrose Helas,” she finished, holding out her hand to mine.

“Derelas,” I replied, gripping her callused palm. She then gripped our joined hands with her other, and I followed suit. Once we broke apart, she was prompt to ask about my presence:

“So, what brings you to me? I’m afraid I cannot be of much help if you are looking to join…”

“I’m not here to join,” I cut her off. “I’m here by request of Fathrian Dresdan. She said you’d understand.”

Tadrose’s gaze turned to stone when she heard the name. It took her several seconds before she was ready to respond to me again.

“Come with me,” she finally requested in a meek voice.

_______________________________________________


Post Script: Character references to Julian of Anvil, Jerric, and Gaius "Pappy" Vitellus are used with permission from their respective authors.

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: Mar 12 2011, 02:05 AM

[mALX]

The nauseatingly sweet smell of decaying flesh preceded the multiple corpses hung in perpetuity on the farther side from the walls. Not two feet away from the hung bodies, a great wooden sign bore a simple phrase:

“Welcome to Bravil.”

The air of neglect did not end with the city, however, not even close. The wilderness surrounding Bravil was a myriad of forgotten structures and overgrown fields. The wide, deliberate spacing of several of those fields led me to believe they were once farmland, their owners long since driven away. The crumbling ruins of nearby homes, their thatch completely rotted away, gave air to a long since past grandeur. The border watch tower for the county stood wrapped in a thin layer of cobwebs, having lain abandoned for centuries. Fungi grew with voracious vigor upon trees, rocks, fences; pretty much anything it could grab hold of.

Crossing the rickety old bridge was harrowing; it felt as if every step had to be chosen with care lest we tumble to our doom on the jagged rocks below.

This was an incredible introduction to Bravil - Awesome job of setting the scene !!!! Great Chapter !!

[SubRosa]

I loved the contrast you created with rotting bodies next to the "Welcome to Bravil" sign! The whole place reminds of a Western boomtown that lost its boom, and is now on its last legs.

So Faith kissed the Lady once? I wonder what luck it brought her? I see Tadrose Helas is caught up with her as well, given her reaction. A very intriguing mystery there...

for no one comes between a man and his sausage!
Except maybe his girlfriend...

“Most say it was a Redguard with hair white as the highest peaks of Hrothgar itself, but others swear it was blond Nord who could not be touched by the Daedra’s magic.
Hah! I love how you used both Jerric and Julian as the Hero of Kvatch in the DF!



nit:
Not a nit, just an observation. In the Ancient Roman Legions, the smallest unit was a contubernium, or tent group. It was 8 fighting men plus 2 slaves, who all shared the same tent. It was led by a decanus. Since you used the term cohorts, I thought you might to do the same there. Although granted the term contubernium might confuse some folks (including Derelas!).

[TheOtherRick]

What a great chapter! I love your take on Bravil. I have always considered it a dirty little town, and your description fit the bill perfectly.

As I scrolled down to pick a quote or two, I see that SubRosa already picked out the D. Foxy-esque line about a man and his sausage.

Looking through the other lines I was going to quote, there are so many that I will just summarize. Your powers of description are worthy of aspiration! All of the little details have made this chapter so immersive.

Kudos to you oh Chef of Words! Looking forward to more about what caused Tadrose to "meekly" ask Derelas to follow her...

This post has been edited by TheOtherRick: Mar 13 2011, 01:30 AM