Light through Darkness, Book 2, are we truly safe now? Options

[haute ecole rider]

Whew! I'm glad there's no more of those wanna-be's! (takes on Mazoga's voice) They may not be real necromancers, but dead is dead. (relinquishes Mazoga's voice)

I did see a nit:

Very few were still in serviceable order, as many had cracked and frayed surfaces. This apparently compromised the magical energies that allowed them to transport people, and this would various unpredictable results.

Seems to me you're missing a verb here. Perhaps result in?

Dere must have some sort of charm to keep getting rescued by lovely ladies. Quite the turn-around from the usual damsel-in-distress scenario.

[Grits]

A disappointing day for Derelas, but at least he’s not dead. I expect that returning to a cave full of dead necromancers will be only slightly more pleasant than when it was full of live ones. How do the Stepstones work? I’m looking forward to what Dere finds out.

[Acadian]

Nice exchange between Dere and Sylvia as he learns a little more about the former inhabitants of the ruin. Then, like Faith a flash, Sylvia was gone.

It was fun to see Dere retrieve the welkynd stones with his bow. And I still get a kick out of his neat sword of kissing mares.

Dere now has the steps and stones for it, but not quite the knowledge he seeks. Blue clues indeed. Returning to the Anvil guild to consult scholars there seems like a good plan.


Nits:

'She was making her way through the ornate metal gates out of the chamber when she decided to turn back turned back, a quizzical expression on her face. '
Extra words here, likely from a previous edit.

“Just do me a favor and keep you guard up inside these ruins from here on."
You wanted 'your' of course.

[SubRosa]

Worst they would’ve done is kill you
Oh, is that all then...

other than a reference to the expedition in a ruin called Vahtacen by Irlav Jarol
I wonder the DF version of Jarol is the same as so many others? In that he spends his time "leading" the expedition from the comforts of the Imperial City, while other people do all the work - which he steals the credit for of course.

Derelas' little trip down memory lane was nicely done. On one level it shows us more of his relationship with his father. On the other it gives us a primer on how Welkynd Stones work in the DF.



nits:
In the game welkynd stones are a greenish color, as is meteoric glass. Also, in the game glass is a fragment from Aetherius, not Oblivion. It is all in Magic From The Sky If you are deliberately changing it no worries. After all, that book was written by Irlav Jarol, so it is probably all wrong!

[mALX]

Chapter 8-3: Holy Cow, what a fight! Your descriptive phrases continue to be in such detail as to draw up graphic images (in the middle of my lunch ... urg!) And poor Dere, naked again! Lol. - Great Write !!

Chapter 8-4: Great description of how the Welkynd Stones work in your story !! GAAAH! Dere gave up? I did not expect that !!! It had to be a clue when the stones glowed and lit up the chamber !!! ARGH !! Gotta agree with Grits though, at least he is still alive, and returning to a place of safety. Really interesting write, Awesome !!!

[Thomas Kaira]

@rider: I see you are catching on to a recurring theme in this tale. Yes, there are no damsels in distress in this tale, instead it is the damsels undoing the distress. Not the first time this happened, nor will it be the last.
Nit picked.

@Grits: Yup, he's alive, and that's what matters. In the meantime, he needs to prepare a bit more, since he was obviously a bit out of his depth in Garlas Agea. Complacency in times of danger is not a good habit to fall into.

@Acadian: Yes, that is a fun little sword, eh? Hopefully he'll finish up with his scholarly interests soon enough so that he can get to using it again, but he does know now that he was a bit quick on the uptake of this adventure.
Nits picked.

@SubRosa: I consider the Welkynd Stones to be aqua, and as aqua can appear to be blue at times, I'm going to leave that be. As for the glass, don't be too hasty. Everything has an explanation.

@mALX: Oh, how I enjoy making you lose your lunch! And no, Dere didn't quite give up, he just needs some time to gather his thoughts and consult a few people who are more knowledgeable than him on this subject.

next: A little food, drink, and chit-chat will do us some good. After an exciting foray into and Ayleid ruin and a near death experience, it'll be nice to sit back and relax.

Chapter 9-1: A Tantalizing Offer

“So, you’re trying to help Kud-Ei with that pet project of her boyfriend’s now?”

It was breakfast at the Anvil Mages Guild, and the population of the hall had conglomerated around the lavishly carved teak table and were helping themselves to all manner of foods. There was a bowl full of assorted berries, including a small vine of what I recognized to be Comberries, along with platters of cheeses, sweetrolls, and a large bowl right in the middle of the table filled with buttery scrambled eggs.

The mer speaking to me now was a Bosmer, who had introduced himself as Thaurron the previous morning before I left for Garlas Agea. However, it was not his clothing, or his demeanor that made him stand out to me when I first saw him. What made him unique was the bat-like creature that followed him around wherever he went. From what he told me, he was the only person in all Tamriel who managed to tame an imp. Said imp, who he had named Sparky, was now flapping around the table, feasting on the morsels offered to him by the many other members of the Guild with a devilish grin across his face.

“Yes,” I replied, biting into a strawberry and savoring the tart, juicy flavor of the shiny, heart-shaped fruit. “She has tasked me to exploring Ayleid ruins to look for Stepstones that might work, and to find out how to do so.”

“A bit much to ask a new associate, don’t you think?” Thaurron responded, cocking his head slightly.

“A fresh mind can work wonders when your work has found a wall.” Carahil replied smoothly to Thaurron. “Kud-Ei and Henantier have been tiring of Jarol’s slow progress for some time now. However, it is no less surprising that she would have chosen someone so new. Pray tell, Derelas, you have my curiosity on this subject. Why did she choose you?”

“I’m sorry, but that’s a private matter between me and her,” I responded. I could have tried to avoid answering by changing the subject slightly, or by other means to direct Carahil’s attention away from that rather touchy portion of our lives, but I was never one to play coy. My answer did make Carahil rather suspicious, but she seemed to content herself with resting the matter… at least for now. No doubt she would try again when there was less of a crowd around.

“Very well,” Carahil replied, “did you discover anything interesting?”

“Well, you know of the Welkynd Stones, right? Crafted from the Tears of Oblivion?”

“Aetherius,” a Breton by the name of Marc Guillete quipped.

“Come again?” I asked him, puzzled.

“Tears of Aetherius, you mean,” he responded, making it clear I was being corrected. “You got one of the first print copies of The Ayleid Steps, did you not? There was a mistranslation in that edition. We’ve made more progress in deciphering the Ayleid language since the book was published, and that was corrected starting with the third print.”

“Oh, I see,” I replied, my voice slightly heavier than usual. “In either case, the Welkynd Stones do react to the presence of the Stepstones quite dramatically, a lot more than the book described. The entire chamber was bathed in light from the stone when it sensed the presence of the nearby Stepstone.”

“But you couldn’t find a way to work it?” Carahil inquired.

“Well… no.” I replied, hastening to take a sip of water. “Apart from glowing like a third moon, the Welkynd Stone didn’t really do anything.”

“But you are still convinced that the Welkynds do have a role in this?” Carahil continued. Her pressing questions seemed to be geared towards my knowledge of the endeavor I had found myself in. Granted, it wasn’t superb, and I felt more and more like a fish out of water every day I pondered my task, but I had promised Kud-Ei results, and I don’t break my promises.

“Yes, I am convinced,” I replied, filling my voice with what I felt was an appropriate tone of resolution. “Those stones are reacting to the Stepstones, and I want to find out why. Everything happens for a reason.”

“That is true,” Carahil responded, her smooth tone never once breaking throughout this conversation. Her composure was impeccable. “But since it would seem that there is not much more you can do with the Steps for now, perhaps you might consider investing in a bit more field experience?”

“Was I in that bad shape when I came back through the door?” I inquired, a now very familiar heat building in my cheeks.

“You changed your shirt, Derelas, men don’t often do that in the middle of the day.”

This comment was met with an outbreak of sniggering around the table.

“And how many times has Sparky singed yours?” I bit back at Tharron, feeling a bit stung. This caused him to stop almost immediately, but then came the unmistakable smell of burning cloth, and he started absolutely roaring with laughter.

“GET THAT DAMN THING AWAY FROM ME!” Marc cried out, dashing upstairs while tearing off his flaming shirt. The entire table, including myself, was now beside itself with mirth, and even Carahil was chuckling mildly. Sparky was hovering around Marc’s empty chair, his grin decidedly roguish, and he was now helping himself to Marc’s sweetroll.

“Now, now, Thaurron, you are going to have to keep better control over your imp than that if you wish to keep him here,” Carahil spoke, breaking the atmosphere of humor at last, though she still had a small grin on her face. She had long since cast a mild frost ball to tame the blazing shirt on the floor.

“Apologies, Magister,” Thaurron replied, his own cheeks reddening now. “Sparky, come here!”

Sparky obliged, but he didn’t drop the sweetroll. Instead, he took a small nibble and chirruped in what I could only describe as an impish giggle. Carahil shook her head as she turned back to me, still grinning from Sparky’s perfectly timed mischief.

So, what happened in there, Derelas?” Carahil asked again.

“Necromancers,” I responded. “Well, really, just hedge wizards pretending to be necromancers, to tell you the truth. They weren’t very skilled,” I added when Carahil raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“I would think not,” she replied, “given your lack of field experience, it is quite a surprise you made it back at all. Is there some other part to this tale I am missing?”

While I appreciated Carahil’s directness with her questioning, it did tend to make me uncomfortable at times. It felt like I was a child being softly lectured by his mother, and that thought did nothing to make me feel more at ease.

“There was… a Sylvan Ranger, she called herself. Name of Sylvia,” I replied. “She helped me escape.”

“I see,” Carahil replied, her soft tone not quite hiding a certain measure of disappointment. It was just enough to make my eyes seek the floor, and acquiesce to the respect she commanded so readily. “You may wish to consider getting some more experience out in the wild before you continue your journey, then. In fact, I might be able to help you with that, if you are willing.”

“I would be more than willing,” I replied, bringing my eyes back up to the Magister’s golden face. “I would be quite grateful for your help.”

“Good,” Carahil replied, rising gracefully from her seat at the table. “Come with me.”

I finished the last bite of my own sweetroll before I followed.

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: May 21 2011, 02:29 AM

[Grits]

“I’m sorry, but that’s a private matter between me and her,” I responded. I could have tried to avoid answering by changing the subject slightly, or by other means to direct Carandial’s attention away from that rather touchy portion of our lives, but I was never one to play coy. My answer did make Carandial rather suspicious, but she seemed to content herself with resting the matter… at least for now. No doubt she would try again when there was less of a crowd around.

Quick question, is Carandial in Anvil, or is it Carahil throughout? I’m sorry if I’m confused!

“You changed your shirt, Derelas, men don’t often do that in the middle of the day.”

Hey, at least he didn’t lose it entirely.

“GET THAT DAMN THING AWAY FROM ME!” Marc cried out, dashing upstairs with his shirt while tearing off his flaming shirt.

Good Sparky!! I hope he doesn’t get in too much trouble. After all, a tame imp is still an imp!

Hmmm, now what could Carahil have in mind for Derelas? Can’t wait to find out!

[Thomas Kaira]

Supposed to be Carahil. I just missed those last two instances of her name when changing them up (I got a bit confused myself over who ran the guild over there).

I really hate Altmer names sometimes, it's almost like six characters share the same name because they are so similar to each other.



This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: May 13 2011, 05:32 PM

[SubRosa]

Kud-Ei with that pet project of her boyfriend’s now?
Well I guess that cat is not securely in the bag!

perhaps you might consider investing in a bit more field experience?”
Uh oh, watch your head Derelas! I sense a dangling shoe, that is likely to drop any moment!

The entire scene at the breakfast table was well done, giving us a recap of previous events and small introductions to the other members of the Anvil guild (I guess Abiene and Jerric were off humping, and Darnand probably asleep at his worktable ) Carahil comes across as one would expect, the softly lecturing mother who is firmly in charge of her guild. Sparky of course is the real show-stealer here, begging morsels from the dinner table again no less! I bet no other imp in Tamriel eats as good as he does! On sweetrolls no less!

Oh, and I feel your pain about Altmer names. I think Bethesda did their names last, and got a little tired, because as you said, many of them are identical except for one or two letters changed. Calindil, Carandial, Carahil... argh!

This post has been edited by SubRosa: May 14 2011, 01:46 AM

[haute ecole rider]

I think every fan fic writer dealing with the TES universe has struggled with the same problem. And if it isn't Altmer, it's Dunmer!

Carahil, Carandial, Calindil, Caminalda, Caranya - ugh! There seems to be a particular fondness for names beginning with 'CAR-'

One nit:

“I would think not,” she replied, “given you lack of field experience, it is quite a surprise you made it back at all. Is there some other part to this tale I am missing?”

I believe you meant your.

Was that one of Salmo's sweetrolls that Sparky - umm, sparked - Marc for?

[Acadian]

What a delightful breakfast at the guild! You represent Carahil, Marc, Thaurron, Sparky and Derelas well. No wonder there was so much food on the table given how much an imp eats. I hope he doesn't leave chips all over to mix in with the burning articles of clothing.

I get the distinct feeling that Carahil has a task in mind for Dere that has nothing to do with his current research. She was really pushing the need to get Dere some 'field experience'. . . .

Nits:
'Marc cried out, dashing upstairs with his shirt while tearing off his flaming shirt.'
This reads oddly. Would simply deleting the redundant bold part be better?

“I would be more than willing,” I replied, bringing my eyes back up to the Magister’s golden face. “I would be quite grateful for you help.”
Oops. Another missing 'r'.

This post has been edited by Acadian: May 14 2011, 01:07 AM

[mALX]

I have to come back and read this tomorrow, TK. Just too tired to see tonight. (sorry).

[mALX]

My answer did make Carahil rather suspicious, but she seemed to content herself with resting the matter… at least for now. No doubt she would try again when there was less of a crowd around.

This was a great line, conjuring up an image of Carahil's facial expression as her eyes lingered on Dere's face before she dropped the subject, lol.


I loved this little interchange and the personality you gave to Sparky!! :

You changed your shirt, Derelas, men don’t often do that in the middle of the day.”

This comment was met with an outbreak of sniggering around the table.

“And how many times has Sparky singed yours?” I bit back at Tharron, feeling a bit stung. This caused him to stop almost immediately, but then came the unmistakable smell of burning cloth, and he started absolutely roaring with laughter.

“GET THAT DAMN THING AWAY FROM ME!” Marc cried out, dashing upstairs while tearing off his flaming shirt. The entire table, including myself, was now beside itself with mirth, and even Carahil was chuckling mildly. Sparky the Imp was hovering around Marc’s empty chair, his impish grin decidedly roguish, and he was now helping himself to Marc’s sweetroll.

The next paragraph drove home the only nit I found in the chapter (other than Carahil's varied name, lol). :

The imp obliged, but he didn’t drop the sweetroll. Instead, he took a small nibble and chirruped in what I could only describe as an impish giggle.

Describing his antics as impish would have had a much more delightful impact if you had left off the descriptor "the Imp" and just called him "Sparky" in these two places. (The imp was impish - too much of a good thing).

Also, to eliminate the repetative descriptor "impish" - in the first paragraph "impish" could be dropped and let "roguish" stand on its own.

Great Write!!!

[Thomas Kaira]

@Grits: Imps will be imps! Oh, by the way, did I mention I hate Altmer names?

@SubRosa: A dangling shoe to be dropped quite soon, you will find. I am always on the lookout for interesting and believable ways to hook the game's quests into the story, and Garlas Agea did quite a lot for me with that.
Nits picked.

@haute ecole rider: Maybe.... Or maybe he's just doing what imps love to do. Either way, he wins.
Nit picked.

@Acadian: And she has a lot of reason to push, as you will soon find. There is plenty of strife to deal with, and she needs a few foolish young minds brave volunteers to sort through a few glaring problems.
Nits picked.

@mALX: Your input is always welcome, as is your playfulness.


next: Another journey, and even more danger. This time to a nearby town I recently created a mod for. If you wish to fully visualize Brina Cross as I see it, you can download here.
[/shameless plug]

Chapter 9-1: Brina Cross

“You have proven yourself quite willing to take risks in your services to the Guild, so I will assume you are prepared for what I am about to ask of you,” Carahil told me, scanning my map with her deep brown eyes as she spoke. “This is the real work, the work that matters, and we are all just as much a part of it.”

“Your destination is the town of Brina Cross,” she continued, making a marking on my map. “The village has seen a small boom of late, and a number of facilities have opened up to the traveling merchant who might pass by. Unfortunately, this has also attracted the attention of thieves, and they have wasted no time in setting up ambush points along the roads.”

“Shouldn’t the Legion be taking care of this, then?” I asked quizzically.

“Yes, they should,” Carahil replied, a definite note of aggravation mixed in her comforting voice. The effect was quite unnerving. “But we must remember that these are trying times for the Empire. What with Kvatch being so close by and Oblivion Gates opening all across Cyrodiil now, the Legion claims to be a bit too… preoccupied to see to such petty matters as armed robbery.”

The emphasis Carahil placed on her words told me that she didn’t really seem to believe in what she was saying. She gave a deep sigh before continuing.

“Nevertheless, despite Fort Sunset Vista being right on the town’s doorstep, the Legion is refusing to get involved, so that is where we step in.”

“Which brings us back to my task,” I finished for her. Carahil gave me a quick, yet faint smile before proceeding.

“Indeed. There has been considerable trouble lately with a robber whom despite their best efforts, the town watch in Brina Cross simply can’t locate. We know that the robber is a mage, as all of his victims’ bodies, yes, bodies,” she reaffirmed, no doubt noticing the look of horror that crossed my face, “bore the distinct markings of Frost magic, but apart from that, they have no more information than we do, I’m afraid to say.”

“And that is why we are performing this job over the Fighters Guild, I’d wager,” I quipped.

“Correct,” Carahil replied. “I have already sent two Battlemages on ahead, but considering this robber has managed to keep himself hidden so well for so long, it is doubtful they can do anything about this on their own. That is where you come in; you are a nonentity to the Guild in these parts, and you will be the one to draw this rogue mage out of hiding.”

“So I’m the bait?” I demanded, my voice flaring with my temper. “Why is it every single time I get asked to do a job by this Guild, I have to put my head on a stake? I thought the Mages Guild was dedicated to the furthering of magical knowledge?”

“Enough,” Carahil snapped. Unlike mine, her voice remained completely calm, but it contained just enough force to bring my attention firmly back to her and seal my lips. “I have already spoken to you about this. Not every lesson in this world can be taught through rainbows and butterflies on the amber hillsides. The world is ugly, and we do what we can to make it better. Be it educating those who wish to learn the arcane arts, or bringing a rogue mage to justice, this is what we do. I see no reason to shelter you from the affairs this Guild must deal with on a daily basis. If you think there is one, then I have no more to say to you. If you wish to continue your advancement through our ranks, you know what you must do. The decision is now yours.”




----




As the sun sank beneath the azure waves of the Abecean Sea, I was passing by the grand spire of Fort Sunset Vista on my way to the nearby township of Brina Cross. The great stone tower was so tall that it could be seen for miles around, and afforded the Legionaries who resided within a superb view of the surrounding countryside. County Anvil was made up largely of verdant steppes of golden sedge, every so often broken by the growth of deep green conifers or large, mossy boulders. The hills rolled like the sea, which bordered the province to the west, and at sundown, they lent a subtle golden glow to the already incredible playing sparkles of red and orange along the water. The result was astounding, and is best described by the name the residents have given this phenomenon: the Flaming Tide. From the little I heard so far about the Flaming Tide, it was a symbol of Kynareth; of the beauty of the land these people inhabited. Many of the local sailors tended to wait until Flaming Tide to set sail, as it is believed to set to sea then would bring the blessings of Kynareth to their journey.

The fort was named Sunset Vista because, as the name would suggest, it was perched on the ideal hilltop to view the Flaming Tide. I would think that, given the well polished uniform of the soldiers stationed there, that to be assigned to Sunset Vista was something of a privilege in the Legion; the polar opposite of a place like, say, Fort Frostmoth. There was plenty to like about such a fort, as well. It was constructed not in the boxy modern Imperial style, but in the elegant-but-purposeful architecture of the many First Era forts that now lay in ruins all across Cyrodiil. Only four of these old style forts remained, and all were erected in the most picturesque locations possible. I did not know where the other three stood, but if they were in any way similar to Sunset Vista, then the Cyrodiil Legion are very lucky soldiers indeed.

Brina Cross was only a bell’s toll from Sunset Vista, and the first thing that stuck out to me was just how empty it looked. The square was all set for what looked like a market, with rows upon rows of open-air stalls with gaudy canvas roofing spread all throughout the square. But every last one of them stood deserted. This coupled with the small clock tower rising from the center, its hands indicating a solid eight hours and twenty-five minutes after-zenith, gave an air of foreboding to the square that made my neck hair stand on end. Such a busily set market square should be bustling with people making last-minute purchases before heading off to the inn for dinner, but therein lay the problem… there wasn’t. Not a soul was to be seen in the entire village. No one except the two guards out on evening watch with eyes glazed over from boredom, that is.

The Inn shared the loneliness I found outside. Most of the tables were empty, with no places set and chairs flipped on their ends and placed atop them to keep them out of the way of the few guests around. The only people there were the innkeeper stood behind his bar on the opposite wall, a brown-shirted Breton, and a golden-skinned Altmer in a deep blue dress.

“Greetings, and welcome to the Brina Cross Inn!” The innkeeper greeted me, far too warmly than seemed natural. “Could I interest you in something to eat, or maybe a bed? Or would you be looking for a drink, perhaps? You’ll find it all here! Quality goods at a bargain price!”

“Just a bed, for now,” I cut across his rambling. “It’s been a long journey, and I really must get some rest before I continue on.”

Of course, I had no intention of ‘continuing on’, at least, not too much farther. I was to cover as a traveling merchant for the entire course of my visit. Much to my displeasure, this had meant leaving all my weapons behind, as a magical gleaming saber that glowed in the dark and set fire to her victims might have been a bit of a giveaway. Carahil wanted me to look like I was not expecting a bit of trouble, otherwise, the robber might cast me off as a bad job--not worth the risk.

“Oh…” the innkeeper looked a bit crestfallen that I was not interested in more, and when he continued, his voice had lost a considerable amount of its previous spark. “Well, do enjoy your stay, at least. Our beds are quite comfortable, and available by Drakes on the Septim, of course.”

As I handed him the ten Drake fee, I spoke: “You haven’t received that much business lately, have you?”

“Well, truth be told, no,” he stated simply. “Not since the… well… the murders. I don’t like to talk about it, though, as it’s bad for business. Either way, enjoy your stay, and if you need anything else, let me know.”

Collecting the key, I silently made my way upstairs. The Altmer showed no interest in me whatsoever, but I noted the eyes of the Breton quietly following me.

The room was small, but well furnished, and the bed actually was quite inviting. I began to strip off my clothes, but the sudden appearance of footsteps sent me racing to put my shirt back on. As I pushed my arms through the sleeves, there was a knock at the door.

When I answered, I saw it was the Breton. She gave a small smile that did wonders to accent her auburn locks before she spoke.

“May I come in? We have much to discuss.”

“Really?” I inquired skeptically. “For whom does the southern bell toll?”

“Alas, but only the glass menagerie may tell,” the Breton replied. This settled that she was my contact, so I stepped aside and allowed her entry.

“I assume you must be Arielle?” I inquired as she took a seat on the bed.

“You assume correctly,” she replied, “I didn’t want to speak downstairs for fear of making a scene, and I’m glad you only drew as much attention to yourself as was needed. This operation is quite delicate, after all.”

“Here’s what we know,” she continued briskly, yet quietly, “The robber’s favorite site is just east of here, on a curve of the Gold Road that gives you a good view of Kvatch. You are to make your way along the road until the robber makes himself known. We will be following out of sight. Make no attempt to contact us, and trust that we will protect you. We are taking every precaution necessary to ensure you don’t get hurt. Now, best get yourself some sleep, you need to be well rested for tomorrow.”

She turned to leave, but hesitated at the door before turning back while reaching into her pockets. She then pulled out a set of scrolls and handed them to me.

“Take these. We know the mage prefers the use of Frost magic, so these should help prevent the worst of the damage he can do to you. Be ready to leave early tomorrow morning. Good night.”

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: May 21 2011, 03:28 AM

[Captain Hammer]

I see we're familiar with our Tennessee Williams. That exchange of code phrases is delightful.

Finally, I am caught up, and let me just express how upset I am that it took me this long to do so. Derelas continues to entertain, his responses and remarks borderline south of "Deadpan Snarker" and well within the borders of "Bloody Hilarious." And he continues to deliver on the body count of people that have made an effort at killing him.

One nit: Your previous chapter, "A Tantalizing Offer," has two references to Carandial in the last four paragraphs, where I believe you intended to have Carahil. Granted, I blame Bethesda, and secretly believe that the high number of Altmer requiring killing in the game is their way of cutting down on the confusion, but I wanted to point it out. Doesn't get much better now that you're about to have a deeply personal discussion with Caminalda.

[SubRosa]

I thought the Mages Guild was dedicated to the furthering of magical knowledge?
What kind of crazy talk is that? The Mages Guild is all about killing people with fireballs! At least that is what it seems like in the game.

Carahil replies as I expect she would. The Nun with the steel ruler. You can see here why Hannibal Lector Traven left her in charge of his old chapter.

I loved your descriptions of the countryside, especially the Flaming Tide. I was a little surprised to see it ascribed to Mara rather than Kynareth (as the latter is the goddess of weather and patron of sailors). But the red color is reminiscent of menstrual blood as well, which is what I am imaging you are basing the association from.

but I noted the eyes of the Breton quietly following me
I think the Breton might be hot for Derelas!

Oh yes, I am sure Derelas will sleep soundly tonight! Just because his head is being stuck in a noose, there is no reason to lose any sleep after all. Can you imagine if college kids had to go through this IRL?

[Acadian]

Carahil makes wonderful sense as she explains the quest and that the guild has an interest/responsibility in policing rogue mages, particularly when the Legion is so occupied. Speaking of which, a great little update to what is going on with the Oblivion Crisis.

Nice job incorporating Brina Cross into this quest.

As Dere was getting undressed and there was a knock on his door, I thought, oh great, poor guy's gonna end up naked again! Fortunately (or not) he got his clothes back on before opening his door to the lovely Arielle Jurard.

[mALX]

“So I’m the bait?” I demanded, my voice flaring with my temper. “Why is it every single time I get asked to do a job by this Guild, I have to put my head on a stake? I thought the Mages Guild was dedicated to the furthering of magical knowledge?”

“Enough,” Carahil snapped. Unlike mine, her voice remained completely calm, but it contained just enough force to bring my attention firmly back to her and seal my lips.

ROFL !!! Are you sure Dere isn't a redhead? That flash-in-the-pan temper may be hiding a secret!

“Really?” I inquired skeptically. “For whom does the southern bell toll?”

“Alas, but only the glass menagerie may tell,” the Breton replied. This settled that she was my contact, so I stepped aside and allowed her entry.

I was rolling reading these code phrases - blatently denoting the characters as spies - awesome humorous touch !!!

Great chapter, good to see you updating !!

[Grits]

“So I’m the bait?” I demanded, my voice flaring with my temper. “Why is it every single time I get asked to do a job by this Guild, I have to put my head on a stake? I thought the Mages Guild was dedicated to the furthering of magical knowledge?”

So very Derelas, and the perfect cue for Carahil’s reply. I would not have expected him to just meekly agree and go for an amble up the road!

Is Flaming Tide Anvil’s red sky at night? What a beautiful description of that part of Anvil County.


Much to my displeasure, this had meant leaving all my weapons behind, as a magical gleaming saber that glowed in the dark and set fire to her victims might have been a bit of a giveaway.

Good point.

After a dangerous brush with partial nudity, it was fun to see spymaster Arielle and agent Derelas making their plans.

[Thomas Kaira]

@Hammer: Welcome back, glad to see you still with us! Your interpretation of Derelas is quite close to what I want out of his character, so I am very glad you find him endearing in that way. And don't worry, there are still plenty of people out to kill him who need a good backfiring of their plans.
By the way, did I mention I hate High Elf names?

@SubRosa: Actually, I think I prefer the Flaming Tide to be a sign of Kynareth, so I've changed that part up a bit. But this is not the game, this Mages Guild doesn't kill people with fireballs, they kill people with explosions, lectures, and gum disease!

@Acadian: Derelas has been getting caught with his pants down a bit too much now, so it was time for me to break the cycle. I always love me a new village, and I made Brina Cross because I thought it fit what the town was supposed to be. It isn't nearly as deserted now, but since we have a bit of a problem with a rogue, murderous mage, having the square empty seemed a prudent choice. Who wants to sell their goods in a town they have to risk certain death to leave?

@mALX: Yup, those were rather blatant code phrases as we harkened to bad spy movies, but I also really wanted to throw in a small reference to Tennessee Williams at some point, so there you go.

@Grits: Flaming Tide is when the evening light reflects off the Abecean Sea on a clear day, turning the water a brilliant red-and-gold. It's a little reference to an old sailor's saying: "Red sky at night, sailor's delight."

next: There are some dangling plot threads that need to be gathered. Just what have the rest of the crew been up to so far?

Chapter 9-2: Three’s Company

“What have you managed to decipher so far?” The man with flaming eyes demanded of the ebony-haired woman in an elegant ivory dress nearby. She was deep in a meditative stance with a strange book in hand, and did not respond to the man’s voice at once. It was only when he grew impatient and opened his mouth again that she spoke in a voice of such resounding command, even this man, driven by cruel determination, faltered.

“The secrets of the Fingers of the Mountain do not lightly reveal themselves,” she spoke, her two fangs gleaming like silver daggers despite the lightless room in which she studied. “I require more time before I might unlock the book’s power. Perhaps you should busy yourself with locating the quarry you lost?”

“And you think I have been doing what for this past week?” The man scathed, eyes flaring in anger. “He has proven much more resourceful than I anticipated, and it is proving rather difficult to worm information out of the people of Bravil.”

“The skooma stores are right across from your chambers,” the woman responded without interest.

“I know,” the man replied through gritted teeth. “I’ve been saving it for… more special occasions.”

At his response, the woman looked up from her book, fixing her red-tinged eyes first on his face, then on his hips. She stared at that spot for a full three seconds before she spoke again.

“I see.”

“It would do you well to mind your tongue,” the man practically whispered, the malice in his voice chilling the air around him.

“And you would do well to mind where you put yours,” the woman bit back. “Even with your favorite… seasonings, the blood of a harlot remains ever the blood of a harlot.”

To this the man did not respond. When it became clear that the lady in white had won the verbal spar, she grinned faintly as she returned to her book.

“Regulus Terentius is quite observant of the goings-on in his city, as I’m sure you know. Your goods will be more than enough to loosen his tongue.”

“The stalkers shall be dispatched at once,” the man slowly replied, making his way out of the dim chamber.



----




“He’s going to have to go to Terentius at some point. Once he does, the Count is all but guaranteed to let loose the gossip.”

“He can’t be sure to give away our secret, though,” Faith replied to Tadrose’s concerns. The older Dunmer was currently taking a break from her forge while the blade she was hammering reheated in the furnace. The smoke from the roaring fire, hot as the Deadlands in Midyear, clouded the tiny room with smoke that was only barely visible caked onto Tadrose’s ashen skin. The effect was not unpleasant, though, rather it looked as though she were wearing a rather exotic makeup made just for her kind. It made Faith wonder why she had yet to find someone to settle down with, despite her insatiable desire for work.

“You know how the beggars gossip, Faith,” Tadrose replied edgily. “The moment something interesting happens with our friend at the center—and it will happen—the beggars will be the first to know. Next thing, the rumors reach the patricians, and the news is circling Tamriel before the day is gone. I don’t know how they do it, but it is all but assured that we cannot truly guarantee safety in this time.”

Tadrose turned away to check on the blade she was heating. “Besides,” she continued with an air of awful finality, “if the Ancient brings Skooma, the secrecy of our friend’s whereabouts is certainly lost.”

“Then we best prepare for the worst,” Faith replied slowly, failing to hide the tension thick upon her own voice. “How long until the Brotherhood catches up?”

“Hopefully never,” Tadrose replied, retrieving the once again glowing blade and picking up her hammer. “I have an agent seeing to that problem, he’ll keep the Brotherhood busy for as long as he can.”

“Tadrose!” A booming male voice called down into the basement forge. “Hurry up and get up here! The shoot starts in an hour and I want every guild member present for the qualifications!”

Tadrose repressed a sigh as she regretfully placed the blade she was about to hammer into the water trough. She would have to pick this work up later, as she desperately needed to clean up and change.

“I really do need to go,” Tadrose told Faith as she put away her smith’s hammer. “I can’t show up for the tourney like this, and Mara knows Teresa would never forgive me if I missed her shoot.”

“It’s alright,” Faith responded, waving a hand in dismissal. “There wasn’t really much more to discuss anyway. I think I should be off to Anvil now, if the Ancient tries bribing Terentius, I’ll want to be someplace where I can do some good.”

“I will notify White Wolf once I return,” Tadrose replied. “Light of Dawn guide your steps.”




----




“I know you’ve been holding things back from me,” the vampire accused a man in a cloak black as midnight. “You can’t hide this from me forever, Lucien.”

“What your Speaker chooses to share with you is not your business to question, Vicente,” Lucien responded coolly, his eyes never leaving the malformed face before him. “You may enjoy a different view from those harlots you so enjoy courting, but it would do you well not to pry into the Night Mother’s will.”

“Now see here, Lucien,” Vicente continued indignantly, “what I do with my brothers and sisters is nowhere near your business. You simply represent our sanctuary to the Mother; I am still in charge of things down there. You have been holding back information on the contract I offered the blood of my kin to the Mother to cement, and I am not about to let it pass lightly. I do not let such sacrifices go, and I do not enjoy having to find and train new murderers.”

“Really?” Lucien inquired, his composure never slipping. “I was under the impression you took rather well to his replacement. Did I not hear you raving two days ago about the Marie Elena job?”

“Times change,” Vicente quickly quipped, fangs flashing menacingly.

“Indeed they do, look what you’ve done to him now,” Lucien continued, “stuck him in some festering swamp-hole of a city trying to find leads? Perhaps he’ll enjoy the Tournament of Archers, but it seems an awful waste of good talent to me, so forgive me for thinking you are not doing a particularly good job with your duties, Valtieri. The Night Mother is most displeased, as if I recall correctly, you are once again behind on your contracts. Perhaps if you were to stop whoring around with young Antoinetta, you would discover a rather apt talent in her.”

“I am perfectly happy with her talents, thank you very much!” Vicente cried out.

“I mean outside of your coffin, you pillock,” Lucien snapped, his voice rising ever so slightly. “You will take the contracts I pass because your Night Mother, bride of the Dread Father Sithis himself, commands they be done. You will set your personal stakes, no matter the blood ties you have made, aside.”

Vicente did not speak for some time. The silence within the dank chamber in which the two spoke was palpable, and Vicente looked ready to slit Lucien’s throat. Finally after many moments of careful consideration, Vicente spoke again.

“Very well, I consider your point made. But know this, I have sealed my pact with the Night Mother on my contract just like any other client. The taking of that one’s life is a certainty now, and I will not be held back by you bloody bureaucrats. Not now, not later, not ever.”

“And you are perfectly entitled to pursue him again once you have cleared the contracts we have been provided.” Lucien replied. “The power is in the coin, my friend, and that is the difference between you and our clients.”

“I know,” Vicente growled.

“Then tell me, which of these next lives do you wish for your sanctuary to claim?”

Vicente looked down at the several scrolls Lucien had brought with him to the sanctuary, and after a moment’s consideration, Vicente selected one, rolled it up, and pocketed it.

“I shall deal with Baenlin,” Vicente replied.

“Very good,” Lucien responded with a light grin and a small bow. “Until we meet again.”

Vicente stood seething for several minutes after Lucien’s departure over the loss, once again, of his ability to follow up on his own needs. The sooner he could take the life of that fetching Valenwood immigrant and stop the Ancient from getting his hands on him, the better. He knew what might happen if that Bosmer met the Ancient, and if his fears came to pass, it would be his life coming to an end. Lucien was an utter fool to hold him back like this. The demon within screamed at him to push Lucien aside, to forget the family he was so much a part of now, and finish this job himself before the threat to his unlife became even more dire, but he must suppress such feelings. He had the might of the Brotherhood at his disposal, and so long as he played his cards well, everything would fall into place.

The light creaking of what sounded like a coffin lid opening shattered Vicente’s thoughts, and he turned to see a slender blond Breton emerge from his sleeping coffin.

“Is he gone?” she asked. “Why don’t you come on back inside?”

“Not now, love,” Vicente replied to Antoinetta. “I have a job for you.”

“Now?” Antoinetta inquired, the grin on her face faltering. “But…”

“Now is not the time, wench,” Vicente growled slowly, thoroughly irritated. “I am not having a very good day, and what would please me best now is your obedience. Please remove yourself from my sleeping coffin, and we may discuss this contract together.”