Knights of the Nine - New Kvatch, Attempt at fan-fic Options

[Colonel Mustard]

For some reason Nol's random little bits of disjointed thought with the Nurse had me thinking of Catch-22. Goodness knows why, but it really did for some reason. Eh, that's probably just my brain being wierd.

[Acadian]

Nol’s self flagellation over Koyree was very touching and wonderfully carried the true spark of paternal reality.

Yes, broken mirrors can be dangerous. Snips of hallucinations with and about one’s nurse. Alice in Wonderland. Biothaumicautopalliative care. Nol didn’t understand exactly what was happening around him – and I was right there with him.

[Athynae]

Poor Nol...

This was a very well written chapter and the intrigue with the bosmer and the nurse...hhmm...but I am still stuck feeling a bit lost in the insanity that Nol is wrapped in...that was some good writing there, you really get the confusion and pain caused by such an intense emotional injury...GREAT JOB! Painful but awesome...

Ready for more...yes I am.

[Grits]

Both Cestra, as she left and Siar, as he was taken away – he had even winked at Nol – had looked to him with such hope that he would pull some miracle out of thin air, there and then.

In a very touching episode, I thought this was just heartbreaking.

I loved the healer-talk along with Nol’s lapses in and out of awareness. And then Trellanwr, hmm. This is the part where I go back and read the other parts together!

[Lady Saga]

Cool story, McB. Finally got around to starting this one. Took me a couple tries before it started to "catch", but that's okay.

Good thing it's slow at my job today. I get to read all these stories and whatnot.

[McBadgere]

Hallooo!!...I'm back... ...

After a period in which I harvested and did some other stuff; fought crippling lethargy; and made a definite decision to abandon writing altogether...

However the Story Fairy™ decided to grab me by the metaphoricals and lead me to the bubbling morass that it likes to call The Plot™ and pointed out all the work that it had already done in the planning and that it would make my life hell until I carried on with it all...So...Here is some more stuff...

Although, in order for me to find it fun again, there's going to be some stuff coming up that will be...Odd...So there...Self-indulgance-'r'-us...

For the previous stuff...

I thank you all for your kind comments...

mALX - Glad the nurse stuff came across as funny...It made me laugh too... ...Many thanks...

Mustard - Cheers matey...As for the Catch-22, I don't disagree with that at all...But that could be just me Ark[ay]in' about... ...Thanks mate...

Acadian - Sorry I lost you with yet another one...I was trying to get accross and emotional shock induced Fuge State with his ramblings, and drifting in and out of his coma thing...But thank you for realising the parental grief thing...Cheers for continued following m'friend...

Athynae - I seem to have confused you too... ...Sorry...But thank you soooo much for the compliments...

Grits - As ever, you always cheer me up with yer comments... ...Glad the emotional stuff came across well...And for realising how hard that actually was to do...*Hugs*...Cheers...More Trellanwr incoming...And cheers for repeatedly threatening to re-read it...I swear, if this was a book it would make a damned sight more sense I think... ...

Lady Saga - Welcome aboard...I hope I haven't caused you to jump ship already though...Many thanks for trying at least...

Anyone else who reads but doesn't comment...Many thanks!!!...





Reet...Nol is in the hospital after his bout of Fuge, after the revelation that his daughter Koyree has been killed...She hasn't, but that's what has been revealed to Tcheet anyways...

And Aide Trellanwr was introduced last time as an assisstant to Tcheet...Just so you know...


Empire is set in 3E 604 and this bit is currently 10 years earlier...(I'm counting back to the present, just in case you'd forgotten... )...








1.12 – Empire (pt. 9 – Know Thine Enemy – vii)








Alinor, Summerset Isles. 10 Years Earlier.







The lightning coloured the clouds of the nighttime storm an eerie pink, there was a pause in the torrent of rain against the glass, and then thunder shook the heavens and the rain redoubled its efforts.

Nol sat staring at the windows. More, not reading The Book of Arkay, than actually watching the storm.

It had been a few days since his “Incident” as the good Healer kept calling it, and his bandages were off. He was able to use his fingers, albeit painfully.

Currently, in the absence of anything decent to read, such as maybe, 1000 recipes for squid, he was using his still pained fingers to turn the pages of the religious propaganda that was The Book of Arkay. Although, he had to admit, Oostermann – if it was all his own work rather than a dictation as he suggested – was a better writer than Areldur could have credited him for. Nol could see how easily led people could get twisted up with this book.

As another blast of thunder hammered in the night, Nol blinked and rubbed his eyes. He put his hand to the luma-crystal next to the bed and held it there as the room’s light increased further.

Pushing down the blankets, Nol swung his legs over the side and stood. He then said to the seemingly empty room. “I’m going to the toilet. You can watch if you really want.” Not expecting a reply from the Shrouded guard he actually knew was in the room – Nol kept catching him falling asleep in the chair and becoming visible – he walked to the door that led to a small room in the corner.

Attending to the task at hand, he heard another peal of thunder and then a flash lit up the room from the slightly ajar door. Nol frowned, finished up and then washed his hands. Looking into the mirror, he saw a distinctly green glow coming from his room, and then another flash. He dried his hands and then pushed the door open slowly.

And there she was, stood over the somewhat smoking, prone guard. The One. The sight of her taking his breath away, as it had done every single time Nol had laid eyes on her; Even while doing something as mundane as coming back to bed after the bathroom in the night.

Cestra stood looking at him with hands opening and closing into fists, breathing deeply.

Thoughts of how, why and what the? were temporarily forgotten as they rushed to embrace, mouths finding each others’ in a desperate, feverish kiss that felt as if it was the first time all over again. Two hundred years gone in an eyeblink.

For an age they stayed together, Nol knew his body was responding to the moment, and he could hear the signs that he’d heard so often, that Cestra was feeling much the same; but then the Universe noticed and thunder rattled the windows; and the kiss that had felt like it’d lasted forever, ended, and Nol’s heart ached, because he knew...Deep down, he already knew.

There would never be another.



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They held each other close for a while as Cestra wept gently.

“My baby girl.” She sniffed. “I loved her so much and I never told her. All she ever saw was me criticising. Why did I never tell her like you did Nol?”

“Sssshhhh.” Nol said. He kissed the top of Cestra’s head and stroked her hair. “She knew. I promise she knew. I told her from you often enough. I always told her you loved her too.”

Cestra looked out at the rain and cried some more.

A few tears fell from Nol’s eyes in sympathy. “Is there any chance he is lying.”

Cestra shook her head. “Ofwysyn is the most honest and true man you will ever meet.” Nol noticed the use of Tcheet’s first name. There was a pause and then Cestra continued, “Possibly the most honest man I’ve ever met actually.” Nol heard the smile in her voice and his heart broke again as he realised she was teasing him, even here and now. “He doesn’t believe he’s evil Nol, he’s doing Arkay’s bidding and that means he can do absolutely anything he believes is right. Ofwysyn is absolutely genuine Nol. So no,” she sniffed and started shaking with sobs, “he’s not lying.”

Lightning and thunder happened almost at the same time and Nol winced at the flash.

“How did you wind up here Ces?” Nol asked.

She snorted, “Isn’t it obvious?”

“It’s that simple? The guild for...You?”

Cestra nodded and sobbed some more. “I’m sorry. I tried to ignore what was going on outside as best I could. My guild was safe. It was all I could keep telling myself...I’m so sorry, I could have done something so many times, I just didn’t know about after...You know.”

“Would his troops take his death out on the families and guild?”

She nodded.

“So he definitely has the families then?”

Cestra nodded again.

“We have no choice do we? We have to work with him. No matter what that means.” Nol sighed.

Cestra pulled away from the embrace and turned her beautiful brown eyes up to his. “I’m sure you’ll think of something eventually.” she said. Cestra pulled his head down to hers and kissed him on the lips again. Then she broke away, walked a few steps and turned around.

“Sadly, all I can think of is one thing.”

“And what’s that?” Nol asked.

Cestra raised an eyebrow and a sly grin spread along her mouth, contrasting with the tear moistened cheeks. “Revenge.”

Nol opened his mouth to protest and then everything went black.



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“Mother stop!” he shouted at the retreating figure. He gave chase, leaping the spaces between the rooftops with ease and landing almost soundlessly.

The flight took in half the city, headed directly to the giant walls surrounding it; only stopping when his mother had reached the highest point, where the walls climbed above the seaward rocks in the south-west corner.

He walked towards her, arm raised, the flechette launcher on his wrist primed. “Please mother, it doesn’t have to be this way. Just come with me, we can sort this out.”

She’d laughed sweetly and said. “He says pointing that at his own mother.” She shook her head, “I love you. With everything I am, I love you my beautiful boy...Always remember that at least. But there’s no coming back from this. You know that.”

By now his friends had arrived.

His mother looked at him and simply said – “Tell your father I loved him, always.” Then she sighed, “Maybe he’ll remember someday.”

“Mother don’t. Please come away-”

She smiled, winked and tipped backwards off the wall.



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“MOTHER!!!” Trellanwr shouted as he woke and sat up, breathing hard.

There was a quietly insistent knock at the door. “Mister Trellanwr? Are you okay?”

“Yes Mrs Bleddyn...I’m fine.” He sighed and tried to calm his heart.

“It’s just that I’ve been trying to wake you for a few minutes? and now there’s another chap downstairs for you?” Mrs Bleddyn – his landlady – had a habit of turning anything into a question.

“Another?” asked Trellanwr.

“Yes? That’s three now, they’re quite insistent?”

Trellanwr put his hands over his face and rubbed it to try and massage some life into it. “Five minutes or so, Mrs Bleddyn, then I shall be down.”

“Okay? I just hope that no more arrive for you, they’re wetting my carpets!?”

Trellanwr smiled, then stood and went to the window. He opened the parting of the curtains and saw that the rain was still as persistent as it had been when he’d woken in the night. “Balls.” He declared.



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“Gentlemen,” said Trellanwr as he walked into the reception room. He sipped from a mug of hot tea that Mrs Bleddyn had shoved into his hands as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “I trust you’re all about to make my day far too interesting.”

The trio all started talking at once, hoping with gesture and emphasis of voice to make their problem sound the most important of all. With the mug to his lips, Trellanwr held a hand up for silence and sighed through his nose.

Pausing his drinking, the Bosmer lowered the mug, “You.” he pointed to the Altmer on the right.

“The Overlord has urgent need of you, my Lord, Aide Trellanwr.”

Trellanwr snorted, “My Lord?” he smiled and shook his head. “And you?”

“There has been an incident in the Hospit-” The man blanched at Trellanwr’s raised eyebrow response to the slip of the tongue. “I mean...Um...Temple of the Healers just off Towershadow Road East.”

Trellanwr frowned, “East?” he repeated. The man nodded in reply, “What kind of incident?”

“Someone managed to get in and kill all the guards, and when I say all, no one knew there were so many in there in the first place. And the staff and patients seem to have all been paralysed for a time, so we really don’t know what they could have been there for.”

Trellanwr shook his head with the appearance of surprise. I know, he thought. What mischief do you bring to the party now, Fleet Admiral?

“And finally, you?” he inclined his head towards the third Altmer as he sipped more of his tea.

“There is a body...” He started and then paused.

“This is Alinor, and we are the Thalmor, this is not news.”

“True, but this one is near to the tower...It has...Impact trauma...And a significant degree of it...”

Trellanwr paused and lowered his mug further. “Male or female?” he asked.

“Female...As far as we could tell.”

Trellanwr put his half finished mug down on a nearby table and slowly walked to the window. The rain continued its relentless drenching of the city.

The Bosmer ran a hand down his beard. Balls, he thought.

Turning around he said to the three, “Right, body, Tcheet then Temple. You two either wait and come with us, or go back to whatever you were doing before you came here.” Trellanwr looked to the Altmer who would accompany him to the body, “Give me two minutes to get my rain-cloak and boots.”

He walked from the room, collecting the mug on the way past.



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Trellanwr knelt by the body, rain dripping from his padded waxed cotton, hooded cloak. He turned and shielded his eyes as he took in the heights of the tower. This is south, and that’s Tcheet’s suites up there.

“Have you any idea who this is, Aide Trellanwr?” asked the man that had come for him in the first place.

Oh yes, he thought.

Balls.



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[mALX]

Not expecting a reply from the Shrouded guard he actually knew was in the room – Nol kept catching him falling asleep in the chair and becoming visible

ROFL !!!

Awesome scene with Cestra & Nol, and then URK! A cliffhanger! Great Write !!

[Acadian]

A rainy night in Alinor!

’He put his hand to the luma-crystal next to the bed and held it there as the room’s light increased further.’
I love this clever lighting!

Nol is recovering nicely, only to get his heart kicked around by Cestra. She is quite a button-pushing piece of work.

“There is a body...” He started and then paused.
“This is Alinor, and we are the Thalmor, this is not news.”


This post has been edited by Acadian: Jun 8 2012, 12:41 AM

[Grits]

The image of the Shrouded guard turning visible as he falls asleep then doubtlessly jerks awake and re-Shrouds is just hilarious.

What a hot and painfully true moment between Cestra and Nol. It’s good to hear exactly why she’s been doing what she’s been doing!

Oh my gosh, Trellanwr and the landlady were fun to read. Something about him has hooked me. Hmm...

“Have you any idea who this is, Aide Trellanwr?” asked the man that had come for him in the first place.

At first I thought oh no, and then I remembered, Revenge!

I’m so glad the Story Fairy™ came through, McB!!

[Lady Saga]

However the Story Fairy™ decided to grab me by the metaphoricals and lead me to the bubbling morass that it likes to call The Plot™

The Story Fairy is trademarked? See I knew it! All this time....

Lady Saga - Welcome aboard...I hope I haven't caused you to jump ship already though...Many thanks for trying at least...

Ha ha,no way man. You have sort of an abrasive writing-style at times, but that's not a bad thing. I can almost hear you telling the story in your (I'm assuming) Welsh accent. Very lively.

P17

This post has been edited by Lady Saga: Jun 10 2012, 05:34 PM

[McBadgere]

Many many thanks to you who read the last part...Much appreciated...

mALX - Glad I always manage to make you laugh with it all... ...Cheers...

Acadian - Yes, I enjoyed the luma crystal thing meself...Wants one!...Cheers for being here still...

Lady Saga!! - Well cheers for that...Abrasive? Me?... ...Sadly my accent is kinda hardly there, and tends to drift towards the one of the person I'm nearest...I'm - unfortuantely - an uncontrolable mimic...And I absorb the strongest accent nearby... ...Y'all...But many many thanks!!... ...

Athynae - I know you read it!!...You told me!!...Thanks for the continued pushing and needling and threats to make me keep going...You rock!!...

Grits - Right from the first post you said you loved this story... ...And you're still here...That means so much...Thank ye soooo much...Oh, and thanks for your help... ...




Heyaaa!!!... ...

Well, I really did stop this time...

And then I missed it...And then all I wanted to do was write...You lucky people you!!...

So here we are, all back and everything...*applauds self*...

And 'cause it's been a while, and although I'm totally sure you will have remembered everything anyways...*Looks over glasses*...I have produced an brief recap of this particular storyline so far...

Many thanks to Grits who read it through first, just to check I wasn't confusing with even that... ...

So...Recapio!!...



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This Thalmor thing was originally going to be a one-shot thing of the KOTN blowing up the Thalmor invasion fleet from the cliffs above Anvil. There was also to be a drinking game involved where when one of the chars managed to blow a ship up, they’d take a swig of the wine etc...Aaaamywho...As I was thinking of it, I realised that many of my chars were thinking it something like murder...So then explaining why they (the Thalmor) were evil, started.

Into the front of my brain walked a been-there-done-that Naval Fleet Admiral called Nol Areldur, who is cousin to the named Altmer Knight in the Knights of The Nine in-game storyline, Areldur (the one you meet in Chorrol Chapel when you go to get the Gauntlets of The Crusader. I expanded his name in my story to be Marn Areldur).

I decided the story would be told from how the Thalmor had affected Fleet Admiral Nol and his family and friends directly down the years, thus the Thalmor would have opportunity to be show why exactly they needed smacking down so spectacularly.

Thusly was the Empire era storyline for my KOTN story born.

It started with Thalmor special forces making a failed attempt to make Cyrodiil and Tamriel’s Empress Mia McWylde surrender without war. She declined. Forcefully.

At Anvil, it emerged that the Thalmor invasion fleet was being held inside a magical fog barrier, which Nol Areldur was at a loss to explain to his young Invasion Commander - the son of the Thalmor Overlord - Merhal Tcheet. It was during this exchange that the Argonian Commander of the Knights of The Nine, J-Drell appeared and after a brief (off screen) fight with Merhal Tcheet, J’Drell announces to Nol Areldur that he was only there to save lives.

This kicked off the storyline proper, and sent us back 30 years to the point where the Thalmor took over on the Altmer home island chain – The Summerset Isles. This will be shown in the end (hopefully) to have kinda been Nol’s telling J’Drell about what’s been going on, hence the counting backwards (30 years, 20, 10 etc). Aaamywho...

We were told that the Thalmor had come to power with a High-Priest of Arkay called Oostermann at the helm, and that this had only been accomplished with the help of the man who now called himself Overlord – the former Altmer General Ofwysyn Tcheet.

Our hero Nol and his three friends, Siar Eremnor, Jeck Harramaund and chief-of-the-Altmer-navy, Oversaar Miitr Farrada met in an inn to discuss the events. Farrada then gave the trio long duration (10 years) mission orders in faraway places.

When they returned from this initial mission, the trio discovered that the Isles had been suffering under the new regime and was quite different. The three also discovered that Miitr Farrada was now quite ill. Still, he sent the three away again for another 10 years.

While away, Tcheet had begun to send search ships out for them. When one of them caught up with Nol, he had them killed by his Fleet Security chief Rae Treort, with the all evidence sent to the bottom of the sea.

Now 10 years before the events at Anvil, the three meet up at Miitr Farrada’s island hideaway, prior to returning to face the Thalmor. It emerges that the family and friends of the three have been vanishing. The assumed culprit is Tcheet.

Also met at the island is Nol’s daughter Koyree.

The quartet return to the city of Dusk in order to gather more information but they are ambushed by the Thalmor Justicar, Ondolemar.

Koyree manages to escape.

Ondolemar sends Nol, Siar and Jeck to the capitol city of The Summerset Isles, Alinor, to meet with Tcheet.

When they finally do, Nol discovers that his ex-wife and mother of Koyree, Cestra Areldur is engaged in an affair with the Overlord.

Tcheet receives news from Ondolemar that Koyree had been killed and this causes Nol to drop into a fuge state, and while under the mental breakdown, he injures himself. It is in the hospital while receiving treatment, he meets Tcheet’s Bosmer Aide, Trellanwr.

A short while later, Cestra comes to see Nol in the hospital. They kiss, talk and finally she declares that she’s out for revenge and stuns Nol unconscious.

Thing is, Koyree hasn’t been killed at all. Having escaped, and via an adventure with the lost Dwemer Greatship, the Mriizeleft, some Divines and the Androform, Myrrl, Koyree is now with the Knights of The Nine.

Trellanwr, meanwhile, being the person to seek out about certain things, is called upon to go and investigate a body at the bottom of Tcheet’s palace, The Crystal Tower...



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This post has been edited by McBadgere: Jul 29 2012, 04:53 AM

[McBadgere]

NEW PARTS ALERT!!!!...

Said it all in the last one...

First new stuffs for a bit!!!...

Enjoy!!...

Please?... ...






Knights of The Nine – Empire. 3E 604





Interlude – Trellanwr - One Day At A Time. (part 1.)




10 Years Earlier. Alinor, Summerset Isles.





Trellanwr put his hand over Mrs Bleddyn’s mouth and said, “Mrs Bleddyn, I’m afraid you need to wake up, quietly and calmly. And it’s most important that you do not scream.”

The old Altmer’s eyes shot open, worry evident in her expression. Mrs Bleddyn’s searching gaze found Trellanwr’s eyes in the moonlit bedroom, she held them and said, “Mmmph?”

“What?..Oh, sorry.” He took his hand away from her mouth.

“Mister Trellanwr!?”

“Ssshh!” He put a finger to his lips. “You really need to keep quiet and come with me.”

“Where?” she whispered.

“Away. I’m afraid...I may be guilty of having brought my work home with me.”

“Well, I’m going to need to get dressed at least?”

“Sadly there’s no time, here’s your coat and boots.”

“Well, I never!?”

“Now there’s a crime, my dear Mrs Bleddyn.” Trellanwr smiled.

“Oh-ho!” giggled Mrs Bleddyn.

As the old Altmer was putting on the outerwear, the Bosmer crossed to the window, opened it inwards and looked down at the alleyway.

The rain and storms that had plagued the city for the past few days had finally abated earlier, in the late morning. The clouds had eventually cleared, but had left the still soaked city reflecting the light of the two moons, from its many rooves. Trellanwr took a moment to breathe in the fresh smell of the departed rain mixed in with the sea salt that covered the city during the windy days.

Reminds me too much of home...Dammit! Focus! he thought sharply.

Sighing, he called the life detect to check for late-night prowlers in the glistening alley down below.

Trellanwr then held out his hands and cast a frost spell, nothing so crude as a snowball or such, but a fine and persistent snow, which fell on an alleyway of Alinor, in the middle of summer. The snow appeared to hit no surfaces that would suggest a Shrouded person or persons were hiding in the alley, so he turned back to Mrs Bleddyn.

The old lady stood nearby. Already tall and thin, the moonlight seemed to render her skeletal, even in her coat. The Altmer’s still dark hair was cut shorter above the shoulder than many women he’d seen, but the volume of it made it stand out from her head, bush-like, giving the impression of more than there actually was, somehow. A worried expression on her face as she looked around her bedroom made her look almost childlike, despite her great age.

A huge wave of guilt for what he was about to do gnawed at the Bosmer.

“Mrs Bleddyn.” He whispered and gestured for her to come over to him. Trellanwr put his hand to one of the pockets on his dark Chamelearmour’s utility belt. He took out an ornate amulet on a chain. “Here, a present. Would you mind wearing it my dear?”

“Oh! It’s beautiful!?”

“Yes it is, and it would be best if you do not do anything sudden such as jump while wearing it. Please walk slowly over here.” The Bosmer said as he looked out of the window again.

The old lady came and stood with him, “Why not?...Oooh!?” As she put the amulet on, Mrs Bleddyn was startled as the enchantment released by it, took hold.

“Because ninety seven percent weight reduction is nothing to be sniffed at.” Trellanwr said quietly as he put a hand up to her shoulder. “Now, it is very important that you trust me on this next bit.”

“Of course.” The old Altmer said instantly.

Ice stabbed at his heart.

“I’m going to climb out of this window and when I tell you, you need to climb across my shoulders from my left to right. Don’t worry, with that amulet on, your strength to hold on to me and mine to you, you’ll be safe. Then you need to put your arms around my neck and hang there, down my back.”

“Um?” Mrs Bleddyn said, unconvinced.

“Please? You really need to trust me now.”

She nodded.

Trellanwr climbed out of the open window and hung there; hands over the window frame and feet finding the smallest of purchases on the blocks of the house. “Come.” he said.

The old woman climbed over his shoulder as he’d asked. He put a hand to steady the Altmer as she put her arms around his neck and hung like he’d asked.

“Oooh?” she whispered.

“What?”

“There’s a rather unfortunate draught Mr Trellanwr?”

He laughed, despite the situation. “Sorry, I shall be as quick as possible.”

“Please?”

With practiced ease, he descended the outer wall of the house, his hands and feet finding gaps in the masonry. Mrs Bleddyn’s enchantment enabled, barely there extra weight, posing no problem at all.

The Altmer’s feet touched the ground and she let Trellanwr go. He reached out his hand for the amulet and she reluctantly gave it back. “It’s so pretty.” she said.

“It’s not the only thing, my dear Mrs Bleddyn, especially in this moonlight.”

“Oh, stop it.” she giggled and waved a hand at him.

Trellanwr smiled and held out a hand. “Come on, we need to go.”



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She took his hand and they quickly walked away from the house. They weaved through alleyways; crossed over main roads as rapidly as possible. Finally, they stopped in a dark alley.

Trellanwr looked about himself. “Right, Mrs Bleddyn,” He took her hand in both of his and very subtly brought a charm spell to one of them, “it is very important you tell me exactly where your sister lives. There is only the two of you now, is that correct?”

She sighed and nodded. “We outlived everyone...Lucky us.” She said with no enthusiasm.

Trellanwr nodded and asked again. “Where is she exactly, Mrs Bleddyn.”

She told him an address near Lillandril, near the north coast, and he nodded.

“Gentlemen?”

Two men stepped out of the shadows. They both wore armour and a mask that covered the lower half of their faces.

Mrs Bleddyn gasped and stepped back. “No!..Mr Trellanwr?” she looked to the Bosmer, “what was it I did? Surely there’s no need for this.”

“I’m so sorry Mrs Bleddyn, you have to go with these men...Now.”



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Earlier that day.



Trellanwr knelt by the body, rain dripping from his padded waxed cotton, hooded cloak. He turned and shielded his eyes as he took in the heights of the tower. This is south, and that’s Tcheet’s suites up there.

“Have you any idea who this is, Aide Trellanwr?” asked the man that had come for him in the first place.

Oh yes, he thought.

Balls.

The Bosmer sighed, “Yes...Unfortunately, I do.” He stood up and then looked at the functionary. “Go get a covered cart,” Trellanwr gestured towards the tower with one hand, “give them this card from me,” he fished around his jacket pocket and produced one, “then take...her, to the south Temple. We don’t need any crossings do we?”

He nodded his dismissal to the man, who then rushed off to do as bidden.

Trellanwr looked slowly about himself, anger simmering.

The rain continued.

He turned and walked towards his second appointment.



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Aide Trellanwr made his way up through the Crystal Tower having briefly called into his office to deposit his cloak. Trellanwr used staircases that he doubted many knew of. Certainly not Tcheet, who was more fond of the bigger picture than the minute details in front of his face. More fond of simply living in a giant symbol of power than truly exploring it. But not Trellanwr. No, he’d managed to find as many of the secret ways as whoever had built it had put in. Well, probably. A joyous misuse of power, Shrouding yourself to avoid giving away the ways in and out. He knew that there was at least one other that knew of the passages. The signs were there that the ways were being used, but by whom, the Bosmer had no idea.

He reached the Throne Room floor of the Tower, cast life detect to look for those un-Shrouded, touched a panel on the wall, and in a small room in an obscure part of the level, a wall panel opened and shut quickly. Nothing walked quickly to a door and opened it. Mere air looked up and down the corridor. Deciding it was clear, a weak zephyr entered it. Silence and emptiness closed the door behind itself and walked towards the Throne Room. As it rounded a corner, the absence of anything blurred and became Aide Trellanwr again.



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He paused outside the opened door that was on the left of the Throne Room. He could see Tcheet in conversation with one of his Generals. The Overlord was pacing up and down, obviously agitated about something. Trellanwr noted a limp, almost hidden in the pacing; and was Tcheet massaging his arm too?

“Take a detachment, get to Lillandril and burn that kriffing University to the ground. Then find all the guild houses and flatten them. Bast*rd mages!! I want them all dead.”

The General nodded. “All the mages Sire? That does basically include most of your army.” He flinched as Tcheet took an angry step towards him.

Tcheet paused, his rage reduced to a simmer, “Of course,” he said, “The Mages Guild, Bureau, its ilk, members and buildings. Find them and burn them. Can you manage that General?”

“Sire,” the General took his life into his hands, “But what of your...arrangement?”

“The arrangement no longer applies General.”

“Of course, My Lord.” He saluted, “The Aldmeri Dominion will cover the world. Glory to the Thalmor.”

Tcheet bowed his head in reply.

The General turned and marched briskly away.

“Oh General,”

The officer turned.

“Take a couple of those damned Frarettal. Let’s see how they work against something that might actually give them a decent workout.”

The General winced, then bowed. “Of course, Sire.”



------------------------------------------------------



“Frarettal?” Trellanwr said quietly to himself.

A reply threatened to completely remove his composure, but with an astounding degree of control he merely raised an eyebrow when a voice said into his ear, “Yes, walking slabs of nearly-men who are magic to the core; possessed of destructive powers beyond anything hitherto witnessed; but their ultimate talent is to suck out every single shred of magic in the area and create a wave of power impossible to defend from. We have wasted many men finding this out. It was really quite fun.” The voice had a smile in it as it said this. “We have no idea where they came from, only that we believe the Great Arkay sent them to us in our time of ascendance.”

“You sound quite proud of them Lord Oostermann, considering you have no idea where they came from, and therefore they could turn on you as soon as help you.” Trellanwr turned slightly so that he was side on to the tall Altmer. The Bosmer looked up and raised an eyebrow.

“Ah, my overconfident little $hit of an underling, that’s the beautiful sign that they were sent by Arkay himself. They kneel before their undoubted masters and do anything asked of them.”

“Yes well, an oh so sweet dancing bear is still a bear, and it will tear your head off as soon as twirl like top, if it decides to.”

Oostermann’s face darkened, and he started grinding his jaw. Then abruptly, he stalked into the throne room.



-------------------------------------------------------------



Overlord Tcheet’s head turned in the direction of movement and his face grew visibly angrier as he followed Oostermann’s progress through the room. The High-Priest walked to a table and poured himself a drink.

Trellanwr sighed quietly and slowly followed in.

“My dear, you look ravishing today!” Oostermann said to Tcheet, words dripping with sarcasm. “Have you done something new with your hair?”

“Piss off. Seriously, I’m in no mood for your sparring today.” Tcheet put his head down and rubbed the back of his neck.

Trellanwr noticed a red, hand shaped weal on the side of Tcheet’s head, the hair burnt off along the length of the fingers.

A shock spell? Ouch. Thought Trellanwr, one which was quickly followed by the remembrance of the body at the base of the tower. He sighed.

Which was a mistake.

Tcheet’s stare pinned him in place.

“Not that I care, really, but you’re acting odder than you usually do. Is something amiss that I’ve – ahem – missed?” asked Oostermann.

“I’ve been guilty of letting my guard down and being betrayed for it. It seems I cannot trust even those closest to me.”

Tcheet clicked his fingers and several guards un-Shrouded. Trellanwr noted that there were two by each exit. He angled himself so as to view as many of the guards as possible.

“Okay.” Said the High-Priest, his one good eye roving about the room. “Presumably that explains the new hair-do and the distinct lack of decent ar$e parading herself around the room then?”

“The harlot Areldur finally showed her true self and her distinct lack of enlightenment. It was necessary to show her the error of her ways.”

“Presumably she was dead before you threw her off the tower?” Asked Trellanwr, trying desperately to contain his growing anger.

Oostermann frowned at Tcheet and paused in his drinking.

The Overlord walked towards the Bosmer, “I care not when that woman died, only that she did.”

“What a waste,” The High-Priest shook his head. “You should have had her detained, I would have gladly...pumped her for information.”

Tcheet finally lost his temper.

“Damn you perverted, crippled, pretender and failure!! You were nothing without me!! And all I get for my generosity is daily crap!! And what of you two?! Hmmm?! Are you two planning to kill me?”

Oostermann raised an eyebrow, took a drink and simply said, “Every night.”

Tcheet walked up to him as the atmosphere in the room turned distinctly cold.

The High-Priest tilted his head and smirked. “My dear Ofwysyn, I loathe and detest you to the very core of my being. I would have no more mourned your passing than I would a stray dog’s; And I spend each and every night dreaming of wonderfully inventive ways for your departure from this world...But you already know that, don’t you? Have I ever pretended to be other than completely disgusted at your continued existence? Hmm?...And yet...” Oostermann sighed, looked down and banged his walking stick on the floor. “As you pointed out, so succinctly...” He sighed again. “So no...I hate you, and I while I refuse to say I need you...I will admit you are, at this time, by Divine edict, necessary. Besides it’s more fun to have you alive to hate than otherwise.”

Tcheet continued to stare at Oostermann for a time then nodded, apparently satisfied. He turned and finally looked at the Bosmer.

Trellanwr raised an eyebrow as he noted a brief flicker of fear in himself.

The Overlord walked towards him.



------------------------------------------------------



“My Lord?” Trellanwr began, “have I done nothing but all you’ve ever asked?”

“Yes, yes you have. Question is, why?”

The Bosmer frowned, confused, “My Lord?”

“You are a good man Trellanwr, possibly a decent man also. And yet here you are, trusted Aide Trellanwr...Always ready for the next order where I inflict necessary suffering on the people for the greater good.

“Yet although it’s apparently not necessary for me to ever need to resort to it, you appear to have no family I could use as leverage on you. And as for your home-life, a rented apartment for all these years? No lovers? No companions? You have no friends as far as we can see. In how many years since I’ve known you...What is it?..Fifteen years?..Not one friend Trellanwr?

“It’s as if you’re leaving no-one I could use as a hold on you...Almost deliberately so, it could seem...So the question is -

“Are you a spy Trellanwr?”

“I did find him listening at the doorway just now.” Said Oostermann, rather unhelpfully.

Tcheet’s head turned back from regarding the High-Priest, with a dark look.

“Well of course I’m a spy.” The Bosmer said, “I always have been. But I am your spy sire.” Trellanwr bowed his head.

“Stop it and answer the question.” Tcheet said through gritted teeth.

Trellanwr sighed. “Sire, I served your predecessor, High-Governor Arkrasnaph while in the Aldmeri Governance Secret Service,”

“Yes, so you’ve said.” Interrupted the Overlord.

“Yes I have, and you’ve known all this for a good few years, but the point is, I did all that was asked of me then as well. Not all of that was planting roses – if you catch my meaning – so performing less than pleasant, though necessary, orders would never have been a new thing. No, I have no family left, and the friendship thing,” the aide shrugged, “force of habit...I’m not a big fan of other people anyways, they bore me. Besides, I have no time to spare.” He smiled.

“Ah yes, the good old A.G.S.S.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Some of these,” Tcheet gestured to the guards, “were A.G.S.S., old friends from back in the day, as it happens. Your being one of the few Bosmers to have ever been given the honour of joining the A.G.S.S. in the first place, you’d be pretty memorable, and yet they don’t remember you...And in an odd coincidence, any records that would have been kept about your...employment, were destroyed in a fire.”

“There are others that could tell you about me, but Arkrasnaph would have been able to tell you if he hadn’t mysteriously turned up dead two weeks after you came to power, of course. And as for these,” Trellanwr nodded towards the guards, “they knew every operative in the service, did they? Bosmer or otherwise? Sir, what would be the point of a secret service if we all went about shouting ‘Hey Bahb!’ to each other when we passed on the street? Who exactly would watch them to make sure they were still trustworthy?”

“Is that what you’re going with, you’re the spy who watches the other spies? Careful Trellanwr, as a wise man once said – ‘And what do you call Assassins who accuse Assassins anyway?’”

“Dead.” Said Oostermann from the direction Tcheet’s throne.

“Sire, it appears I’m in enough trouble so may I just ask, for you to have found out these things must have come from before all...This,” Trellanwr pointed to the mark on Tcheet’s head.

Tcheet put his fingers to the mark, “Yes Trellanwr, I’ve asked before, what do you think I am...Stupid? I know all about everyone here.”

Oostermann chuckled.

“Yes?” Tcheet snapped.

“If you knew all about everyone you’d never have got caught with your pants down, huertyn.”

Tcheet closed his eyes, his jaw clenching. He took a deep breath and rolled his head, as if stretching his neck.

Then, his eyes shot open. “Ah, the Divine Arkay sends inspiration in the darkest of times.”

Tcheet smiled and walked towards his Throne, gesturing for Oostermann to vacate it...Now.

Trellanwr frowned.

“It’s very simple, if you really are one of the chosen of Arkay, he will spare you.”

“Sire.” Trellanwr breathed a sigh of relief and bowed.

“If...”

The Bosmer frowned.

“If you can kill all these guards before they get you.”

“Well he’s not going to have much of a chance to after they get him is he, Ball-sack?” said Oostermann.

“You’d be surprised.” Replied Tcheet. “Oh, and if one of you casts a Shroud, I will kill you myself. The Divine Arkay blesses you...Maybe.”



--------------------------------------------------



The guards looked at each other in confusion.

Balls. Thought Trellanwr.

Almost as quick as thought, he lifted his arms out wide, turned his palms upwards and filled the room with fog.

Then, he moved.



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This post has been edited by McBadgere: Jul 29 2012, 06:17 AM

[mALX]

*

And 'cause it's been a while, and although I'm totally sure you will have remembered everything anyways...*Looks over glasses*...I have produced an brief recap of this particular storyline so far...

SPEW !!! "Huh? Were you looking at me? Urk!" ROFL !!!!

“Well, I never!?”

“Now there’s a crime, my dear Mrs Bleddyn.” Trellanwr smiled.

Her saying that had me rolling, the next made me spew my coffee! Loved that little interchange!

“There’s a rather unfortunate draught Mr Trellanwr

I hadn't thought of that, nice detail !!

And as for these,” Trellanwr nodded towards the guards, “they knew every operative in the service, did they? Bosmer or otherwise? Sir, what would be the point of a secret service if we all went about shouting ‘Hey Bahb!’ to each other when we passed on the street? Who exactly would watch them to make sure they were still trustworthy?”

LOVED this little passage! He is right, too. Trellanwr seems to be the smartest/cagiest one in the bunch here, and it seems he smelled the trap before he walked into it to be so prepared. Awesome scene here, this section and the one with Mrs. Bleddyn ROCKED this chapter !!!

Awesome Write, and so glad to see you posting again !!! Welcome back !!!

*

[Acadian]

The whole little exchange with Mrs Bleddyn quoted below was simply delightful:
“Away. I’m afraid...I may be guilty of having brought my work home with me.”
“Well, I’m going to need to get dressed at least?”
“Sadly there’s no time, here’s your coat and boots.”
“Well, I never!?”
“Now there’s a crime, my dear Mrs Bleddyn.” Trellanwr smiled.
“Oh-ho!” giggled Mrs Bleddyn.’

Casting a light snowfall to check for shroudies was brilliant!

I can imagine how Tcheet got his shocking new do. And, it seems, his violent response.

An icy scene among Tcheet, Oysterdude and Tellanwyr. Fight’s on! Let there be fog!

[Grits]

I’m so very happy to see an update, McB!

The whole scene between Trellanwr and his landlady was charming and chilling. I mean, if Aide Trellanwr climbs out the window with you, things have gone wrong. I love how she speaks in questions. The snow test was a great idea! At this point on the first read-through, I thought that Trellanwr might be doing a very bad thing.

“Have you any idea who this is, Aide Trellanwr?” asked the man that had come for him in the first place.

Oh yes, he thought.

Balls.

Balls indeed.

The Overlord was pacing up and down, obviously agitated about something. Trellanwr noted a limp, almost hidden in the pacing; and was Tcheet massaging his arm too?

Oh, darn. I was hoping for missing limbs at least. Though the burned head sounds like it hurt.

“Yet although it’s apparently not necessary for me to ever need to resort to it, you appear to have no family I could use as leverage on you. And as for your home-life, a rented apartment for all these years? No lovers? No companions? You have no friends as far as we can see. In how many years since I’ve known you...What is it?..Fifteen years?..Not one friend Trellanwr?

Oooooh, now I see. Very tense! I can't wait to see how the Bosmer gets out of this situation!

It was fun to see the Overlord and the High-Priest hissing at each other, especially after (before ) the sweet exchange between Trellanwr and Mrs Bleddyn.

I loved every word, McB!!

[McBadgere]

Weeelll...It's nearly sunday morning over here!... ...

NEW PARTS ALERT!!...

Reets...

mALX...Nah, not you, but I thought that a more in-depth recap of what had gone before would be handy!!...I'm so glad that the Mrs Bleddyn came accross well...Thank you so much mALX!!...

Acadian...So many thanks m'friend!!... ...I hope that even after you've ended yer tale for now, you will still come around to read!...

The Ghostly presence of Athynae who still whispers in my ear that she enjoyed it...I'm sure I heard it somewhere... ...Thank you muchly much...*Bows*...

Grits!!... ...Well, I'm glad I managed to give some mystery for at least five minutes...I think I have less ability to keep suspense than a housebrick... ...But, c'est la vie!... ...I'm glad my hissing cats went well, more to come of that...Much and many thanks Grits...Much appreciated...



To continue...

After Overlord Tcheet was attacked and injured by Cestra Areldur, he's gone a bit more...Paranoid...And has decided that Aide Trellanwr must be a spy...To prove himself one of the Divine Arkay's chosen and therefore to be trusted...The Bosmer has to defeat a great few guards...As you do...


Oh, BTW...I think this post pushes the PG-13 somewhat...Just a warning and an apology...Thanks...





Knights of The Nine – Empire. 3E 604






Interlude – Trellanwr.




One Day At A Time. (part 2.)




10 Years Earlier. Alinor, Summerset Isles.






Aide Trellanwr ran crouched to his left and ducked behind the nearest pillar. The fog was never going to give him much time. With no Shrouds it was life-detect all the way. Not even invisibility could be an asset against Tcheet’s personal guards.

Trellanwr couldn’t be sure he’d survive Tcheet’s wrath for killing his guards, even if he managed to live through killing his guards.

One thing at time, dear boy, He thought to himself. One thing at a time.

He needed some allies. With quick silent prayers to any divine who just happened to be listening, and a tug of warning along the connection that he and his twin shared, the one which allowed this next cheat in the first place, he began conjuring.

First the Wiiriial. Two shapes appeared above him and started circling the pillar. Larger than a man’s head, a Wiiriial resembled a flying mouth. Two small, almost baby-like arms jutted out of the side of the lipless maw, with what looked like eyes a little above them.

The first of the fireballs came at Trellanwr from the right. One of the Wiiriial dropped into the fire’s path and caught it in the waiting mouth. The fire simply vanished as if it had never been.

Next, the Golem. Much stronger and durable than a skeleton, the tall Golem appeared sporting dark plate armour and an Ebony longsword and shield. Eyes glowing from the fire within itself, it walked in the direction of the guards with the unstoppable inevitability of an approaching avalanche.

Just a few scant seconds had passed since Tcheet had effectively passed a death sentence on him but Trellanwr needed a couple more in order to achieve this next trick.

The Bosmer sought out the connection to his twin again. He felt concern coming his way, but Trellanwr visualised calm, reassurance that he had it under control and formulated the words asking for permission for what he needed to do next. Trellanwr instantly felt the permission granted, but almost as soon as it was given, he also felt an angry, all consuming heat come down the connection. His mind walled up the link and he blocked out the rageful venting that usually accompanied the heat.

The communication had taken no more than an eyeblink and so Trellanwr set about the one last conjuration.

He blocked out the sounds of ringing swords and the battering of the Golem’s shield; the whooshing of the air as the Wiiriials dropped and ascended to catch the magic attacks, and appeared to pray.

If anyone had been able to see through the fog, it would have looked as though at the same time as being down on one knee, head bent over clasped hands, he had also stood up and walked forward.

Trellanwr lifted his head, and put a hand down on the floor to steady himself. Though partly obscured by the fog, the Moid stood before him. An almost exact duplicate of himself, but one unbound by physicality, and unlike the Bosmer, nigh invulnerable.

His heart and head pounding from the effort of casting, he nevertheless sent thanks to his sister.

Trellanwr brought the life-detect to the front of his mind. He could see a knot of guards engaged with the Golem, so the Bosmer sent the Moid to give the embattled ally some support.



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With the Wiiriials behind him to prevent attacks from that quarter, Trellanwr made for the nearest guard. He needed a sword. Being a mere Aide, armament in the Tower was never really needed...Well, usually.

Trellanwr ran at the guard, who tried to time the attack and brought his sword down to bisect the Bosmer.

At the last moment, Trellanwr pushed his speed fortifier and crossed the distance in an eyeblink before the sword was far enough down. The strength enhanced punch from the Bosmer’s shield-spell covered fist caused the guard to double up and fly backwards a ways. With a couple of steps the Aide was stood over the now kneeling and retching guard. Trellanwr put his other hand to the back of the Altmer’s head and with a genuine feeling of guilt, the Bosmer said “I’m so sorry.” and shot an ice spike through it.



----------------------------------------------------------------------



The Moid had crossed the distance to the Golem in moments, simply putting his shoulder down and barrelling into the nearest attackers. Having no need of the laws of biological physics, the conjuration was simply up on its feet the instant its shoulder touched the floor. The Moid saw the Golem engaged with several more aggressors. It walked up behind the nearest fighters that were hammering on the Golem’s shield. A slim sword appeared in each of the construct’s hands and it ran the nearest guards through before turning to the next one.



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The Golem, having had the immediate bulk of the danger removed, bashed the nearest guard in the face with its shield. As the first guard stumbled backwards a way, a second tried his luck and lunged forward with his sword while the Golem’s attention seemed to be elsewhere.

If he realised his mistake as the Golem’s sword pommel shattered his skull, it really was somewhat too late.



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Having despatched two more Altmers determined to not disappoint Tcheet, Trellanwr closed on the guards near the first set of doors.

The first of them cast a fire cloak about himself, walking towards the Aide in a roiling ball of flame.

Trellanwr chuckled grimly as a Wiiriial dropped from above and swallowed the guard whole. He himself had no curiosity to find out himself where the darkness within the mouths led, if anywhere.

He saw the second guard just standing there, mouth agape at the disappearance of his associate. With perfect aim, Trellanwr threw the short-sword he’d picked up into it. The guard slammed into the wall and moved no more.

The temptation to bolt through the now clear exit was almost overwhelming.

But that would accomplish nothing, he thought, so the Bosmer simply turned and through the thinning fog headed for the nearest glow.



----------------------------------------------------------------------



“Do you know, Tcheet old-boy, watching this, I’m inclined to trust him.”

“Hmmm?” The Overlord nodded distractedly, watching with his life-detect blazing.

“Are you listening?”

“Mmm-Mmm.” Tcheet shook his head.

Oostermann sighed. “I think, in all honesty, if he was going to kill us he could have done it long ago.”

“There’s worse things for us than being killed.”

The high-priest frowned. “Really?”

“Oh yes.”



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The Moid parried the sword with ease and engaged the Altmer in swordplay. It was almost possible to believe that the Moid was enjoying the exercise, right up to the point where it swatted the other’s sword aside and drove a spiked fist up under the chin of the guard and shoot a bolt of destruction up into the man’s brain.


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The Golem caught the flat of a sword and twisted his hand, snapping the metal. The guard at the other end stumbled back, just in time for a spike from the Moid to shoot through the back of his head.

The Moid reshaped the spike into a jagged mace ball and then swiped it sideways into the chest of another, crushing the armour and killing the man instantly.

Taking two steps it then grabbed the arms of yet another and held them, vice-like. The guard screamed as the Golem walked towards him and punched his head off.



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“Is this all typical for the A.G.S.S.?”

Tcheet shook his head slowly.

“I never had any reason to see them fight.” Oostermann continued, “They were usually just asking me very probing questions rather than needing a fist fight...Wait...Then who?”

Tcheet shrugged.

“Aaahhh, that’s what you meant - Cyrodiil. Are you going to let him live then?”

“We’re not finished yet, I may not have to do anything...Sadly, I can’t just kill him out of hand.”

Oostermann looked down with a stunned frown on his face, “Has that damned shock knocked that last half of your wits loose or something? Whyever not? You usually have no problem killing people for breathing. Awww,” Oostermann mock pouted, “getting performance issues are we?”

Tcheet sighed, “I have no proof for what I’m accusing him of, he has genuinely done all I’ve asked without question. I’ve also got a feeling that I was wrong about him.”

“Again, it’s never stopped you before. And I’m sure I haven’t been at the felldew this morning...But, did I hear you just say you were wrong about something? ”

Tcheet nodded, “I’ve got an uncomfortable feeling that he may actually have one friend.”

Oostermann smirked and looked over to the always thinning fog, “Awww!! Does the Overlord want to stop the fight and go make kissy faces with his little Bosmer pet then?”

Tcheet closed his eyes and breathed slowly and then opened them again. “No. Look, don’t you have a goat you want to go and impregnate or something?”

“Oh yes.” Oostermann took a drink from the goblet he was holding, “Your mother.”

Tcheet stared at the High-Priest for a short while, “Well, you’ll have to kick your mother out of her bed first.”

The tall Altmer appeared to consider this, then his face showed his agreement of the assessment and said, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Tcheet looked at Oostermann, winced, shook his head, looked to his right and clapped loudly twice.

“Besides, if he lives, it will be the will of Arkay.”

“Riiight.” Oostermann replied.



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The Altmer High-Priest of Arkay closed his eye, dug into himself and brought forth his Blessing of Arkay. Then he looked outwards. A few shapes glowed with the colour of Arkay, but one stood out - Bright luminous green, with four other fainter green shapes around the room, one of which appeared to have an amber outline.

Oostermann frowned and with an act he - much later - put down to a Divine Intervention, decided to keep quiet.



------------------------------------------------------------



The Altmer guard put both hands on the hilt of his sword in an effort to force it to push Trellanwr’s downwards.

The Bosmer gave it a couple of seconds before whipping his weapon out from under the blade and with an upstroke took both hands off the guard, mid-forearm.

The guard screamed.

Briefly.

Trellanwr heard the two claps and briefly wondered what they were, but then he also heard the unmistakeable sound of the Wiiriials catching spells behind him, and he turned to face the new threat.

A trio of guards were stood together, as if there would be safety in numbers somehow.

Aren’t we done yet? Where the hells are they all coming from? The Bosmer thought.

He decided to briefly expand his awareness, knowing that it left him somewhat exposed, but trusting the Wiiriials to protect him for the short time.



----------------------------------------------------------------



Tcheet could see well enough through what was essentially now a thin mist, to watch as the Dunmer serving girl brought the jug of wine and two goblets. He watched the sway of the hips and appreciated the barely covered, lean yet obviously well toned dark blue body. He saw the girl look briefly to her right towards the carnage and sounds of battle without flinching, then her deep-red eyes turned once more to regard him.

She walked towards him, holding his stare all the way.



---------------------------------------------------------------------



The serving girl reached the pair, bowed her head and offered the tray and its contents to the Overlord.

“Thank you?..”

“Daena, my Lord.”

“Daena.” Tcheet nodded, “You are new here are you not?”

“Yes Sire.”

“And yet this did not cause you distress?” Tcheet gestured outward.

“My late master trained me as a Gladiator. This,” she pointed to the battle, “is nothing.”

Tcheet smiled. Then quickly frowned as he heard a scream, unmistakeably from a Bosmer. He sighed.

“So what happened to your master that you are now here?” asked Oostermann.

The Dunmer turned her fierce red eyes on the High-Priest and tilted her head. “He made a mistake, my Lord.” And paused.

“Which was?” asked an increasingly enthralled Tcheet.

She turned her gaze back to him and held his eyes, “He trained me as a Gladiator.” She bowed and turned to leave.

Tcheet leaned forward and grabbed her upper arm, she looked back to him and smiled. Tcheet stroked the arm with his thumb. “Stay, I would get to know you better.”

“As you wish, my Lord.”



-----------------------------------------------------------------------------



Trellanwr looked down at himself and then his awareness turned outwards, around the room. The Golem and the Moid had finished off their remaining foes and were quickly making their way down the room towards him. Tcheet and Oostermann were still the far end of the room. So just these three remained. He fell back into his body.

Have they any idea that only they are left? Would they give up if they knew?

Trellanwr recast the Battle Meditation and felt its restorative effects once more. With a sharp inhalation and blowing it out again, he headed for the trio.



-----------------------------------------------------------------



The Bosmer approached the three swordsmen. They gave each other space to work in so Trellanwr simply picked the one on the right to attack first. Sadly, this appears to have been pretty much their plan. As soon as he was engaged, the other two joined in, surrounding him with cold steel. His skill kept them at bay and even sometimes driving one or other backwards.

The Wiiriials were of no use save interference as no magicks were being employed. The guards simply batted them away with the flats of their swords.

Suddenly, there was a sickening crunch as one of the guards flew sideways. The Moid had hit him at speed, crushing him.

Immediately one of the remaining foes turned on the Moid. As soon as the guard’s sword arm finished its arc, the Moid rushed forwards, grabbed the arm and sliced it off above the elbow. The guard screamed until the Moid backhanded him across the face – with the guard's own hand. The Moid jump-kicked the dazed guard in the chest and the Altmer stumbled backwards onto the outstretched sword of the Golem.

Trellanwr was sick of it by now and simply unleashed a flurry of moves that was at least partly toying with the guard, just to show that he was completely outmatched and would soon die. Then, in the middle of it all, Trellanwr had the horrible feeling that this was simply far too much like his mother than he was comfortable with and took three swipes at the Altmer, finishing him off.



-------------------------------------------------------------------------



Trellanwr looked down at his appropriated sword covered in blood. Only a few minutes had passed since he walked in the room and now his whole world had changed again. How could Tcheet think of him as merely Aide Trellanwr now?

Fifteen years of desperately hard, soul destroying work ruined, essentially because one Fleet Admiral had wanted to play hero and gotten his daughter killed in the process?

Damned Universe!!...

A rage took him and he screamed, throwing the sword away with all his strength.

Tears fell down his cheeks.

Taking a few calming breaths, he turned to the Wiiriials. Bowing his head to them, he cast the dispel and they vanished. He turned to the Golem, and once more he bowed, but this time, the Golem held the guard of his sword up to its face, in salute. Then the firelight in its eyes went out and it crumbled into a purple dust which then dissipated.

The Moid stood there looking at him. “Thank you.” Trellanwr said, the Moid just raised an eyebrow and ran at the Bosmer. Despite the speed it was travelling, when the Moid hit, it was with the force of a strong wind. Trellanwr stumbled a couple of steps before righting himself. The Moid gone, the Bosmer felt the magic connection to his twin fading and he sent his thanks down the bond they shared.

Trellanwr wiped his eyes and composed himself. Then, having taken several deep breaths, started the walk up the Throne Room.



----------------------------------------------------------------------



The Bosmer walked up to the dais while looking at the floor. At the foot of the stairs he raised his head towards Tcheet and held his eyes.

Suddenly he noticed the Dunmer wench and a frown briefly crossed his brows.

Haltingly he said, “Sire, I have done everything you ever asked of me. It’s far more difficult to prove innocence, but if that’s what it takes...”

“You are alive because Arkay has named you one of his chosen, Trellanwr. If he deems you worthy then that is good enough for me.” Said The Overlord.

The Bosmer heard the High-Priest snort and looked to him briefly.

Tcheet stood, picked up a sheet of paper that had been lying by the throne and gestured for Trellanwr to come and get it. “Could you have this taken to Warden Ancano?”

“Sire?” Trellanwr frowned questioningly.

“It’s a list of those whose...Cooperation we will no longer need.”

The Bosmer approached the throne apprehensively, suspecting a trap. Taking the list Trellanwr bowed, “Of course.” He said.

“Oh, it would appear you need to freshen up Trellanwr." The Overlord said, “So If you would bring the dear Fleet Admiral Areldur to the Halwich building in, say, three hours?”

Trellanwr bowed again. “Of course Sire, thank you.”

The Overlord nodded.

The Bosmer looked to the High-Priest and bowed to him.

He then inclined his head to the Dunmer, then turned and left.



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Tcheet watched the Bosmer leave. When he judged that Trellanwr was beyond earshot he turned his head slightly and said, “Massey?”

“Sire.”

“Follow him. See what he does.”

“As you wish, My Lord.”

There was a brief swish, and the air moved as the Shrouded guard left.

Tcheet looked to Daena and smiled. “So Gladiator, what was your weapon of choice?”

The Dunmer smiled, “Sire, I’m told I have exceptional blade skills.”

Oostermann snorted.

Tcheet smiled. “Well, I appear to have some time to kill. Care to give me a demonstration?”

“It would be a pleasure, my Overlord.”

“Yes, I’m sure it will.”



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As she was led away by the hand, Daena took one look down the room, but the Bosmer had already left.



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***Robert's note...Moid was a character in an 80s kids tv series called Terrahawks...He was a baddie that managed to (almost) perfectly replicate a character to further the evil schemes of the enemies etc...Aaamywho, he was essentially a doppleganger...And I as I thought that word a bit too much even for me, I used the word Moid instead...I just thought I'd say in case someone actually managed to get the reference... ...

This post has been edited by McBadgere: Aug 4 2012, 03:52 PM

[Acadian]

A very intense and magical fight. What a clever batch of helpers Trellanwr conjures up!

‘Oostermann smirked and looked over to the always thinning fog, “Awww!! Does the Overlord want to stop the fight and go make kissy faces with his little Bosmer pet then?”
Tcheet closed his eyes and breathed slowly and then opened them again. “No. Look, don’t you have a goat you want to go and impregnate or something?”
“Oh yes.” Oostermann took a drink from the goblet he was holding, “Your mother.”
Yikes! These two really like each other! Not.

Loved the exchange of honors and salutes between Trellanwr and his helpers as he dispelled them.

[Grits]

I really enjoyed Trellanwr’s various allies. I thought the Wiiriial were especially creepy and neat, and I loved that part where one ate the guy with the flame cloak. Also the Golem’s glowing eyes were a great touch.

The Moid stood there looking at him. “Thank you.” Trellanwr said, the Moid just raised an eyebrow and ran at the Bosmer. Despite the speed it was travelling, when the Moid hit, it was with the force of a strong wind. Trellanwr stumbled a couple of steps before righting himself.

I love this part!

Trellanwr is still a mystery to me, and the frowns and glances with Daena make her a mystery, too. I wonder what goes on in the Halwich building. Probably not anything nice. I look forward to finding out!

[mALX]

I have to come back and read this when I have a quiet house, McB. Our pup is in her first heat cycle and the stud is going nuts on us, chewing through walls, etc. I'll be back (said in an Arnold voice).


EDIT: This interchange had me in hysterics:

don’t you have a goat you want to go and impregnate or something?”

“Oh yes.” Oostermann took a drink from the goblet he was holding, “Your mother.”

Tcheet stared at the High-Priest for a short while, “Well, you’ll have to kick your mother out of her bed first.”

Trellanwr is Awesome! Great chapter !!!

This post has been edited by mALX: Aug 6 2012, 04:35 AM

[McBadgere]

Thankee all for still being around...It's muchly appreciated...

Now...The character of Daena...I genuinely have no idea what she actually is...

However...In my thinkings about what she could be...This happened...

And while I appreciate I'm not going to get a prize for sticking to the one episode a week...*Shrug*...I wanna...

So, here it is...The first of the Tales of The Knights...

Cheers...




Tales of The Knights – Empire.





Shadow On The Sea





In the end days of the Great War against the last of the B@stard Pretenders line in 3E 584, chaos ruled. When the Emperor, Robert McWylde made the ultimate sacrifice to end the war, destroying both himself and Imperial City, it was only through the immense willpower of several individuals; the discipline of the Knights of The Nine and the resilience of the loyalist Legions that Cyrodiil was saved at all.

In those dark days, when the Traitor Legions saw their doom approaching, they fled en-masse, like rats from a sinking ship. So many poured into Skyrim, that they were simply able to declare the country their own. Still bleeding from the gouging it had so recently endured, Cyrodiil was unable to respond and stood watching.

Still more traitors crossed into Hammerfell or braved the borders into Morrowind, or Black Marsh or Elseweyr.

Not only was it the Legions that had betrayed Cyrodiil, but the Navy too. Scores of ships had simply sailed away. Heavily laden with both treasure and traitors, more than a few small fleets were glimpsed as they sailed off into the vastness of the oceans.

Some of the ships were recovered down the years.

Ghost Fleets would be discovered, drifting along together, the crews dead from starvation.

Some ships had made landfall in faraway places, being sold on, so that the profits - such as they were - could buy those fleeing, some time.

But some ships, simply vanished.




The Abeccan Sea, Midyear, 3E 594.




The records in the Naval House at Narford would say that the ship was the H.M.S Battle of Bruma Gate. A venerable old warship that had been through much in its career. One of the few Varla powered steam turbines still in existence, the Bruma Gate was nevertheless lovingly maintained. Though the mostly Redguard men that now crewed her, called her Bullwhipped, a slaver’s ship based somewhere in the islands off Hammerfell.

Her Captain was a man who called himself Bar’cloore, and currently both he and the ship were at rest - the ship on almost flat seas beneath an expanse of sky marred only by a thin sheet of high cloud that took the edge off the sun’s heat, and Bar’cloore himself, in his cabin.



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The first mate of the Bullwhipped, Ak’alun, stood with his hands on his hips looking out at the sea, his hawk-like stare watching for movement on the horizon. They were waiting for the Thalmor ship The Right of Conquest to come and collect the latest batch of unfortunates bound for the slave markets around The Summerset Isles.

Since the Thalmor came to power, slavery in the Isles had become big business again, and so people like them were able to make unexpected profits from it.

Ak’alun crossed to the other side of the ship to cast his gaze towards the vast nothing. We could be all alone in the world and you wouldn’t know. He thought to himself.

The Redguard heard cheering and shouting, walking forward of the top deck, he leaned on the railing and saw a fight had broken out down on the foredeck. He briefly frowned and opened his mouth to admonish when he noticed that both men had open hands.

They need to have something out, but they’re not going to cause too much damage in the process. Ah, discipline. The first mate thought.

Ak’alun smiled for a second, but then one of the pair flew backwards, propelled by a shock spell. The cheering stopped and everything was a shocked silent. Then several of the watching crew piled onto the still standing crewmember, wrestling him to the ground, while some others tended to the fallen man. Ak’alun watched and tilted his head as one of the men below looked up and saw him. He heard the shocked man laugh and push himself up. He wavered a bit as he stood up then slowly made his way to where the other was being restrained. Ak’alun heard words being spoken, fingers pointed, then smiles. The shocked man suddenly embraced the other, who, after having his hands loosed, returned the hug.

Ah, brothers. Ak’alun chuckled to himself.

The first mate heard a shout then turned and looked upwards to the crow’s nest, high above. He saw the lookout pointing south. Signalling his acknowledgement, Ak’alun then turned to look. Sure enough, on the horizon, headed towards them was a distinctive A shape of a Thalmor frigate.

Showtime. Thought Ak’alun.



----------------------------------------------------------------



The first mate knocked on the door of Captain Bar’cloore’s cabin. “General.” He said and opened the door. “Eshe, they’re on their way.”

General Sir Eshe Deaconsson of the Knights Shadow looked up from the papers he was reading at his desk and nodded. “Thank you, Sorl...Time to prepare our guests. Head back up and keep an eye on them.”

Captain Sir Sorl Lathon nodded and left, closing the door behind him.



------------------------------------------------------------------



General Deaconsson put down the document he was reading and stared at the closed door for a few heartbeats. He sighed and closed his eyes. Pushing the chair backwards, the tall Redguard stood, smoothed down the cream linen, short sleeved shirt and put on the gold trimmed, Captain’s waistcoat one that had been “Left by the previous owners.” His grey cotton trousers the only luxury Deaconsson had decided on, Authenticity is one thing, comfort is quite the other. He put on the sandals nearby and checked himself in the mirror.

He noted the collection of scars on his shaven head; the bags under his eyes from too little sleep over too many years; the grey stubble on his square jaw.

Deaconsson sighed deeply, I’m getting too old for this.



---------------------------------------------------------------------



The General walked into the hold of the ship.

As Captain Bar’cloore, Deaconsson had a cultivated an air of an “Humane” slave transporter, so that if his occasional customers demanded to see below decks, when they saw the space between the sleeping cots all Bar’cloore had to say was “What they go to is unpleasant enough, without this last trip needing to be in squalor.”

The Redguard looked about himself at the Knights assembled there.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he began, “I’m afraid it’s time. As we discussed, if you would stow everything of luxury in the space provided, we will see to it that it is returned home to be stored for your eventual return.”

Deaconsson paused and swallowed.

“For what is about to happen, I am truly sorry. I know you are all volunteers, but no amount of training and counselling is likely to have fully prepared you for the life of a slave. Not really. But all we ask is that you do what you can, for as long as you can.” The General paused and looked down, “I won’t go through it all again. The Nine only know you’ve been told what’s likely coming. Just hold on to your faith in them. The Nine will keep you through it.

“Some of you may wind up living in loftier halls than others, but all of you can give us information that we can use, never doubt that even the slave of a market-stall holder can help.”

The General slowly looked at all of the spies.

“This will be difficult. I will not lie. Only you will know when it is too much though. Abandoning slavery will not be a problem for you – a luxury not afforded most slaves. Should you find yourself in the situation where you must leave, make your way to one of the contacts in the cities. A brief report will have to be given, but as to what happened...” The General raised his eyebrows, “...that you had to leave...Well, that’ll be between you, your counsellor and your Divine...I know all of you, there would be no doubt that if you were stood before me sooner than expected then...There would be no doubts in my mind.

“The next few days will test you in ways you could have never imagined. The Slave Markets will just be the beginning...But you are Knights of The Nine.

“Keep the Faith.

“Make them proud.”



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Captain Bar’cloore stood on deck and smiled broadly as the Thalmor slave procurer, Macuraren walked along the gangway, laid out between the Right of Conquest and the Bullwhipped.

Ak’alun stood, lounging against a nearby railing, nonchalantly drinking from a bottle of rum, taking everything in.

The Thalmor strode onto the deck with a trio of guards and looked about herself with barely disguised disdain. She almost sighed as she said the word, “Captain.”

With his biggest smile, and in a thick accent that gave his heritage as being of the islands, Bar’cloore said, “My dear Macuraren, a-sharna foirie russlich na frai sairie slinairse o ma bosa!” the last words spoken in his native tongue.

Ak’alun spat out his mouthful of rum and started choking. “Ach!” he said, and threw the bottle out into the sea. “Bad rum!” he said to the frowning Altmer. The first mate then gestured at a crew member and demanded – using more islandese – more rum.

Bar’cloore’s smile somehow got wider and he laughed a deep throaty laugh. “We seem to have gotten stiffed with our latest supplies. Half of the rum tastes like vinegar. But no matter, we can use it to clean the stains off the walls no? AH-HA-HAAA!”

“Indeed.” Said Macuraren, “As...Pleasant...As I have found our few dealings, I am on a schedule Bar’cloore.”

“Of course.” Bar’cloore bowed and then completely failed to move.

Macuraren sighed and gestured to one of the guards. He walked forward and handed a large cloth bag to the Captain. “Oooh!” he declared. “It would seem that fortune has blessed us my dear!” Bar’cloore opened the knot on the bag and pulled out some gold coins. He bit one, knowing how much it annoyed the procurer. “Oh that is so very tasty!! Our arrangement has produced so much I can scarcely thank the Nine enough for sending you my way, my dearest Macuraren.”

“Watch you don’t say that to the wrong Thalmor, Captain. Some will take your head off for saying such things.”

Bar’cloore frowned, seemingly wondering what he’d said. Suddenly a shocked look appeared on his face, “The Nine? Oh, of course!! Apologies!! Of course I meant no offence.”

“Besides, isn’t this sort of...Trading, an offence towards them?” Macuraren gestured vaguely upwards.

The Captain smiled broadly, “I can honestly say that nothing I do would ever be considered by them, an offence.”



-------------------------------------------------------------------



When the slaves had all been transferred to the Thalmor frigate, Macuraren stood at the Bullwhipped end of the gangway and said to Bar’cloore, “Thank you Captain, our business is always a pleasure. Aren’t you ever worried though, that I might...end our little arrangement? It’s a risky business this slavery. Middle of the ocean, all alone.”

Bar’cloore blinked and then with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes he said, “My dear Macuraren, this ship was Cyrodiilian. Not only that, but she was a very special ship.”

“So special they let it fall into the hands of some slaver rabble?”

“Trust me on this my dear. Do you want to know what her name was before?”

“Not really.”

“The Battle of Bruma Gate.”

Macuraren’s sneer died.

“Oh good, you know your history...So you can remember how she can punch far above her weight.”

Macuraren nodded.

The genuine smile returned to Bar’cloore’s face. “Excellent! Dearest Macuraren, a'r ta tente e shertis ta nirt a ter uss ala sisuant!” he grinned wider.

The Altmer looked at Ak’alun, who stared back stony faced, betraying nothing.

“Careful Captain, one of these days I’ll be back with someone cultured.” With that she turned on her heel and left.




----------------------------------------------------------




Once the gangway was retracted and the Right of Conquest was headed away, Sorl Lathon came to lean on the railings next to Deaconsson, “’May your head be removed from your shoulders and then used as a piss-pot?’ Really?”

Deaconsson grinned and then made a show of waving to the departing Thalmor. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“And seriously, you could have warned me about that first one. ‘That which garners less respect than that which I scrape off my shoe’.”

“Good cover by the way.”

“Yeah well, you’ll go too far one of these days.” Lathon said and left.

Deaconsson leaned on the railing and stared until the Thalmor were a speck on the horizon.

“May the Divines watch over you.”



----------------------------------------------------------------



The venerable old warship the Battle of Bruma Gate turned on the ocean and slowly made her way home.



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This post has been edited by McBadgere: Aug 8 2012, 01:40 PM