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

[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.



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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.



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“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.



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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.



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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.



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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.”



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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.



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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.



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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.



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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.



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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.



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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.



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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.



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

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

[Acadian]

This was a very cool and clever tale of deception! Infiltrating the Thalmor via knights posing as slaves is brilliant!

‘The Captain smiled broadly, “I can honestly say that nothing I do would ever be considered by them, an offence.”
Knowing what the Captain’s plan is, this line gave me a smile; as did this one:
“Oh good, you know your history...So you can remember how she can punch far above her weight.”

[Grits]

I love how your various tales and stories show different pieces of McBadgere’s Tamriel (and beyond). Each side trip makes me see more in the main adventure(s).

General Deaconsson’s speech was chilling and inspired. What a great idea, infiltrating through the slave markets! And how utterly horrifying.

As ever, your characters jump right to life. The exchanges between the Captain and the General were particularly enjoyable.

Yay for the Tales of the Knights!!

[mALX]

One of the few Varla powered steam turbines

LOVED this !!!

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.

That could be visualized the way you wrote it, Awesome!

You have certainly given the Knights some great background with your story, Love it! Great Write!

[McBadgere]

Hey y'all!!... ...

I appreciate the compliments on the Knights Shadow shortie...

Acadian, thank you so much for your continued support, and I hope that the writing bug grabs you again soon...Thanks very much, glad you enjoyed it...

mALX!! - Was a bit worried there for a sec that I'd annoyed you or summat!... ...Yep, Varla powered...I'm hoping that I can do these ships I've got in mind, justice in the end...Glad that got your vote though...Thank you so much...

Athynae!! - Thank ye for yer compliments as ever...I appreciate you taking the time out to read this...Stuff...NOW STOP MESSING AROUND AND GET YER STORY BACK ON HERE!!...Thanks so much...Appreciated... ...

Grits!!...Oh, for every character that turns up there's probably a story I've got for them...Just don't ask me to write them all...Please?... ...Glad you enjoyed it...Thank you for your ever amazing compliments...

I also appreciate you all not telling me off for interrupting what is already an interruption to the main story... ...Oh, and not dissing the idea of, as Acadian said, infiltration by slavery...

Aaaamywho...

NEW PARTS ALERT!!!!...



Previously on KOTN...

The Bosmer Aide to Overlord Tcheet of the Thalmor, was accused of being a spy. In order to prove that he wasn't, the Overlord had Trellanwr battle a host of guards, with the idea being that if he truly was a "Chosen of Arkay" and therefore to be trusted, Arkay would spare the Bosmer...Trellanwr - rather unsurprisingly - won that round and was then given further instruction by the Overlord...

We continue...






Knights of The Nine – Empire. 3E 604






Interlude – Trellanwr.





One Day At A Time. (part 3.)





10 Years Earlier. Alinor, Summerset Isles.







The invisible Bosmer walked past the other players in Tcheet’s sick game. A corridor full of rushing Justicars, ‘Civil’ Servants, Slaves and sycophants. At this moment it was so hard to not just kill them all simply for being in this place.

Trellanwr weaved his unseen way past everyone, headed towards his office.

The Aide had the distinct impression he was being followed. Likely Tcheet had sent a Shrouded to watch him. Well, he was only invisible to avoid the stares at his bloodied appearance, so at least that was one thing less to report.

He reached the door of his office and headed in. The spell had dissipated at the door and Trellanwr had gotten inside the room before anyone had noticed his stained clothes. Leaning his back against the door the Bosmer gave himself a few seconds of calming with his eyes closed. Thanking whichever Divine that his assistant was still out doing whatever had kept the youngster from being here earlier, Trellanwr headed for his overnight room.

When doing the Overlord’s work kept him at The Crystal Tower well into the night, Trellanwr had a room in the back of his office, fully furnished, containing a bed, a shower and a wardrobe full of clothes.

Most importantly, it was lockable.

An Alteration-proof Nul-Iron lock.

The Bosmer walked into the back room, closed the door and locked the world – and hopefully his tail – outside. Trellanwr assumed that a subtle trail didn’t involve kicking his door down.

Putting the list of names down, he crossed the room to the sink in the tiny kitchen area and ran himself a glass of water. He drank some and then pressed the coldness of the container against his head to try and relieve the pain he felt there.

Trellanwr felt a little queasy so he put the water down on the sink drainer. Suddenly feeling that it was a tad more than a little, he ran to the small toilet cubicle, further around the room, and vomited.

Having flushed the toilet, the Bosmer stood leaning against the wall for a time.

His head was pounding at this point, but one more spell and he could break for a few minutes while he showered. Standing in the middle of the room, Trellanwr put his arms out and then, looking much like a lighthouse, with two green beams of a paralyse spell, swept the entire room to check for unfriendlies that may have hidden themselves at some point before his return. Satisfied, the Bosmer stripped off the bloodied and damaged suit and shirt, then simply put them in a bag for disposal.

Trellanwr turned on the shower, adjusted the cold and stepped inside. Some of the water turned red as the blood was washed out of his long black hair. Once he had attended to the cleansing part, the Bosmer simply closed his eyes and sighed, savouring the hot water for a few more seconds.

It was with the greatest regret that Trellanwr reached for the close-off valve. He grabbed a towel, dried himself off and then walked to the bed.

On it was the paper that Tcheet had given him. Reading down the list, Trellanwr almost wept for the families. Two columns on each side of the page. He recognised several surnames that could have been the relatives of some of those that had crossed the Bosmer’s path down the years, and now for whatever reason...this. The last names on the list bore the same surname as the pre-Areldur, Cestra.

Trellanwr sat down on the bed. Each time he had these lists sent to Warden Ancano at the “Tcheet’s Irony” complex, a part of the Bosmer’s soul was burned away. Under no illusion as to what happened to those Tcheet declared “of no further use”, all he could do was record the names for posterity and hope that one day Tcheet could be brought to justice somehow, and that all the names could be memorialised somewhere.

Moving over to the small desk, the Bosmer pulled out two sheets of paper. Placing the list down, Trellanwr put his right hand over it. His eyes de-focussed and then shone with a silver light. Slowly, from the centre of the page, the list’s names were traced in fine silver. When Trellanwr lifted his hand, the entire block of words lifted too. Putting the tracery on the blank sheet, the Bosmer’s nose wrinkled in effort of both magic and restraint at the same time. The spell done, he picked up the paper. Trellanwr saw that the names had been perfectly burned into the previously blank sheet. Tcheet’s roll of horror, perfectly legible. The second sheet of paper for the names on the other side of the list was just as successful.

The Bosmer looked at the second sheet and sighed. “I’m so sorry.” He said out loud.

Once finished, he crossed to the wardrobe, looked inside and selected a suit and shirt not dissimilar to the one he had put for disposal. The Aide dressed and walked to the mirror to check himself.

For an instant the Bosmer thought he could see his sister behind him, but on turning quickly around, found himself alone.

Trellanwr’s heart was pounding from fright. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

Looking in the mirror again, the Bosmer brushed his hair and ran a hand over his beard to smooth it down.

The copied lists, he picked up and carefully folded and put in a hidden inside pocket of his suit jacket. The original, Trellanwr held in front of himself as he crossed to the door. Taking a look around the room once more, the Bosmer nodded to himself then unlocked the door and walked out.



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



Trellanwr looked at the clock on the wall for two reasons. Firstly, he judged that there was now a little over two hours left until his meeting with Tcheet. And secondly, Where the hells is Idmaron? Barely in his mid-twenties, this was the young Altmer’s first real job, but being so close to the Aide and – ultimately – Tcheet would help his career take off, no end. One of the assistant’s greatest personality strengths was his punctuality. In the years Idmaron had worked for Trellanwr, the Altmer had never been late for work. Never.

Trellanwr had a definite bad feeling about the boy and closed his eyes.

Saying a prayer to Kynareth, Trellanwr asked for strength and forgiveness for himself and protection for the boy. He knows nothing of value, I swear. If they have him...he will not be able to survive. Please. He begged.

The Bosmer opened his eyes again to the feeling that he was being watched. Thought so. Fighting the urge to look around the room, Trellanwr instead went to his desk, selected a large envelope and wrote a name and address on it; then he took a small piece of paper and wrote,

Warden Ancano,

The Overlord send his regards and also a new list of
names, with the instruction that “The cooperation of
these few is no longer required.”

Regards, Aide Trellanwr,

For Overlord Tcheet.

The Bosmer then sealed the envelope and headed out of the room in the direction of the courier office.



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



Trellanwr hoped he’d lost the tail back at the Crystal Tower. The Aide had walked into the crowded lobby, mingled with a group of Altmer – losing a Bosmer amongst such people was usually easy – and then Shrouded. Employing the speed fortify, the Bosmer had simply bolted out of the door.

Reflecting briefly on the Shroud spells employed by various agencies around Tamriel, possibly even around the world, Trellanwr wondered why the Thalmor version was flawed somehow. The Shroud was supposed to put you out of the realms of any detection. Outside of anything that could be considered life, so nothing and no one could find you if you didn’t want them to. And yet, with the Thalmor, there was always noise of some sort, however quiet. A flaw. Knowing where he had acquired the spell, the Bosmer wondered how the Altmers got it in the first place. In truth, he’d never really know, but likely answers ranged from knowledge directly imparted by the great Arkay himself, to being trained by the Mages Guild. Neither of which he had a chance in hells of verifying, should he wish to even try.



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



The healing temple that, until the Thalmor had driven them out, had been run by the Knights Hospitalier, was east of the Crystal Tower. A relatively new building – built by Masons sent by the Knights of The Nine – that had been raised on the site of a pulled down ancient and decaying former palace to officialdom, its facade was as beautiful as the design of the interior. People seemed to feel better just by looking at it, let alone the work that had been done by the healers inside.

Today, Trellanwr barely gave the pillars and ornament a second glance as he rushed in through the front doors.

The rain was still giving all it could in its pursuit of drowning the entire world, and so the Bosmer was dripping somewhat as he stood in the lobby of the building.

He noticed that several healers were talking in a group, one pointing the way he knew the Fleet Admiral lay in. Suddenly, another of the group noticed him, gave a start and her face darkened. She walked towards him. “YOU!” she shouted.

Trellanwr tilted his head, “Maircaln, always a pleasure.”

“This is a place of healing what in the name of the N-...I mean, Eight did you bring to my Temple?”

“Me? I was in bed.”

“You know very well what I mean. The guards. Why were there so many?”

Suddenly aware of the time passing, Trellanwr replied with a sigh, “Maircaln, as difficult as this may be to believe, I genuinely have no idea. Was anyone except the guards harmed?”

“No, well, not really, almost everyone had been paralysed by a something long acting. The Fleet Admiral being the last one to come out of it.”

The Bosmer nodded. “So, no real harm done then.”

Maircaln looked pained, “No, no harm done to the families of the guards at all.”

Trellanwr felt his stomach go cold. He said quietly, “Gods Maircaln. I’m so sorry.” He shook his head. Drops of water fell to the floor, mimicking tears almost. “My day so far has been...Problematical. The Overlord has instructed me to bring Fleet Admiral Areldur somewhere, fairly soon. I need him prepared to leave in, say, half an hour, forty minutes. Can you have him ready?”

“But-”

“Maircaln!” he stared up at the Altmer, “I’m sorry but, The. Overlord.”

“So who will investigate this?” she gestured to the wing of the temple.

“Well, I’ve got a pretty good idea who it was, and I can genuinely say that they’re not going to be repeating this little feat any time soon. So no need to worry there. But I shall have someone sent to you to make a more thorough go through.”

Maircaln paused and then nodded, “But won’t The Overlord be angry about his guards?”

Trellanwr snorted. “I can honestly say The Overlord isn’t one for over-sentimentality where his underlings are concerned. I suspect he will be sending a few more your way soon enough. Now, the Fleet Admiral?”

Maircaln inclined her head and went off towards the wards.



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



Trellanwr walked out of the building and stood just back from where the rain was bouncing up off the ground. There was a spell the Aide knew that made the rain simply part as he walked, this meant keeping dry, but getting funny, almost envious looks, and so, having left his rain-cloak in the office, the Bosmer resigned himself to getting soaked.

In a rare piece of luck, Trellanwr spotted the functionary from earlier and the Aide called for him to come over.

There was a brief conversation whereby the Bosmer directed the functionary to seek out and bring a Thalmor investigator that the Aide was familiar with. The Altmer nodded and left in the direction of the Tower.

Trellanwr had one more stop to make before his meeting at The Halwich Building.

The rain wholeheartedly embraced him as the Bosmer stepped out into it and headed for the commercial district.



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

[Acadian]

Thanks for the brief ‘Previously on Kotinkie’ review before this episode. Very helpful.

That shroud effect is nasty stuff. No pink glows!

’An Alteration-proof Nul-Iron lock.’
Ooh, I hate those!

And a wood elven copy machine!

Hmm, delivering the Fleet Admiral to a dungeon it seems?

[Grits]

What a neat copy spell! But the contents of the list were certainly gut-wrenching. No wonder Aide Trellanwr doesn’t make friends.

The rain wholeheartedly embraced him as the Bosmer stepped out into it and headed for the commercial district.

I love the rainy atmosphere throughout this part. It was interesting to follow along with Trellanwr’s thoughts as he went about his grim business. One more stop… Maybe he’s getting Nol a nice cup of coffee? Ah, I guess not.

The suspense is building, McB! I'm anxious to see what happens next.

[mALX]

The hot shower and flushing toilet were a shocker, Maxical needs to go visit the Crystal Tower if they have facilities like that!

This is a place of healing what in the name of the N-...I mean, Eight did you bring to my Temple?”

HA! Loved that slip !!!

Gotta agree with Grits, this line is Awesome!

The rain wholeheartedly embraced him as the Bosmer stepped out into it and headed for the commercial district.

Great chapter !!!

[Zalphon]

I know it seems mild, but I liked the Freudian Slip with the Ni--err--the Eight!

[Athynae]

I shamefully hang my head and beg pardon from the great and powerful McBadgere for my lack of postage on Her Highness's story, I do assure you the next post is currently in process and will be brought to you shortly.

KOTN is moving along wonderfully and getting more and more suspenseful by the moment. Wonderful write my friend, looking forward to more. I was with him in the rain and feeling, it seems, much like he was I believe.

I do enjoy your 'outside the box' thinking, the way you fold the magic into the story works so well. Keep up the good work I am looking forward to the progression.

[jack cloudy]

All caught up again....for now.

So assuming that my memory isn't cracked and pitted as usual, I believe our mighty Bosmer (small in stature, great in deeds), is a new character. Or at least, I don't remember him popping up before the Areldur storyline. I do like him however. He's got wit and seems to ultimately be on the side of the anti-Thalmor, though with more patience and willing to endure mental torment than most. Most people in his position would have probably tried to take out Tcheet and one-eye already.

I also like how his method of major magic appears to depend on the abilities and consent of a remote third party. (Probably a KOTN or someone affiliated with that group and its patrons.) Especially the mouths were awesome. They have this otherwordly and disturbing vibe I really enjoyed.

Speaking of magic, I like how you continue to use it to drive away the technological stasis/regression that plagues so many fantasy-worlds. At its heart it is still identifiable as sword and sorcery, but we now get lightbulbs, boat engines and plenty more stuff. Add onto that the newer spells, the new politics etc. I really like it.


And finally the slavespy-insertion. It sounds very convincing and is just the kind of thing I would expect a power to do. If I had to nitpick, I'd say the crew and captain of the mighty Bullwhipped were a bit too cocky with their sneaky insults. What if the Thalmor decided to send a linguistic with them, possibly for means of educating the slaves? Ah well, they'd probably either suck it up, or take the slaves anyway and then try to kill the dealers some way sometime.

[McBadgere]

Hallooo!!!... ...

Thanks for continuing along this freefalling joyride with me...I appreciate it muchly...Always...

Acadian, cheers matey!!...As for what will happen to Nol at the Halwich Building, it may be worse than a dungeon... ...

Grits, thankee very much!!...Making up new magicks is part of the fun of this for me...(See new part for more!!)...Thanks so much for the continued support...Muchly much...

mALX, you have no problem with the Androforms, the Mriizeleft, the Divines or the ship engines but a simple arrangement of plumbing is odd?... ... ...Just kidding...I thought as we're some hundred years on from Oblivion, surely someone should have invented indoor plumbing by now... ...Thank you so much for keeping with me on this...I appreciate it so much...Thank you...

Zalphon, awright matey!!...Cheers muchly...It matters not how much of it you liked, if you only liked that bit, it is wholeheartedly appreciated...Thank you for reading...*Bows*...

Athynae, *chips off frost to find rest of post*... ...Oh, there it is...Thank you so much...You know how much you hassle me as much as I hassle you. ..And it's always brilliant...Thank you...Muchly thank you...

Jaaaack!!...Wow...Thank you soooo much...That's really kind of you...I could go down the many points you make, but through it all I would just keep saying thank you...So...Thank you so much...

Oh, though about General Deaconsson's pushing it with the translated barbs...Yes, some of - what I'm thinking of as - the Legacy Knights (descendants of early years Knights-OTN) can have a big dose of arrogance and entitlement to them...More on this (Knights, Generation Knights, Legacy Knights, Brother Knights, etc) at a later date...Much later date...


Aaaamywho...


NEW PARTS ALERT!!!...


Where we were...

The Bosmer Aide Trellanwr had fought his way out of trouble, cleaned himself up, lost the guard assigned to trail him, headed to the Healing Temple to forewarn Fleet Admiral Nol Areldur of his meeting with Overlord Tcheet of the Thalmor...He left said Temple with one last stop to make...





Knights of The Nine – Empire. 3E 604





Interlude – Trellanwr.





One Day At A Time. (part 4.)





10 Years Earlier. Alinor, Summerset Isles.





Invisible again, Trellanwr headed for the fastest route to the commerce district – Upwards.

From his long study of the city, he knew very well from which roof to start. The Aide scaled the first of the buildings and briefly stood looking southwest, visualising his route.

Trellanwr realised that this wasn’t going to work without employing Hydrofail magicks. A pretty nasty form of localised destruction magic, verging on evil, if employed as a weapon, the Hydrofail cloak forcefully removed all water from your local area, while you stood at the centre, your own humours unmolested. Trellanwr had seen its effect on a body. It was not a pretty sight.

The Bosmer sighed and thought, Still, you can’t jump through rain, land on the rooves of buildings and expect to stay upright.

The link-cheat with his sister aside, the Bosmer wasn’t particularly overburdened with magicks as such – some of his peers had been far beyond him in magic abilities. Trellanwr had, however, been employing magic since he was very young, and this practice had led to his being able to stack multiple effect spells without having to worry about them failing. Invisibility, strength fortifier, focus. Lastly he cast the Hydrofail and backed up a short way. The Bosmer stared at his landing point on the other roof, and began.

Run-plant-jump-land-set-run-plant-jump-land-set, a pattern began. Trellanwr saw nothing but the route ahead. His peripheral vision registered that even through the rain the sea was becoming more of a feature, as he headed vaguely towards it.

A – briefly – dry path followed the Bosmer as he ran, the Hydrofail cloak simply shoving the water to one side as his feet touched slate or whatever other roof material he passed over. Any time an ascending path was necessitated, the handholds became bone dry.

This way, he covered quite some considerable distance in a very short space of time.

He was breathing hard from the running, but no more than from the usual exercise regime he put himself through. Even so, he felt a degree of satisfaction to see his destination below.

He looked about himself then descended via nearby rooves to the street level.



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



As Trellanwr entered the emporium known as The Aisles of Wonder, the owner looked over from where he was dealing with a customer.

Despite his mood, a smile spread over the Aide’s face as he heard the man – Farisce – shout, “My good friend Trellanwr! A joy for this day!” The Bosmer couldn’t help but smile when he was around Farisce.

A larger than life man of Imperial descent, Farisce was as tall and wide as a Nord with a personality to match. His family were of the DaTyrk, a nomadic tribe that hailed from the southern Elsweyr region of Cypriit, thus his colouring spoke of the blessing his ancestors had had from travelling beneath unending sunshine. Though being of Imperial race out of Elsweyr, his sales skills spoke pure Khajiit.

“Everyone! Everyone!” Farisce continued, his light brown eyes twinkling mischief, “Make way for Overlord Tcheet’s right hand man!”

Trellanwr had to suppress a wide grin as he watched the shop simply clear, as several people suddenly decided that they had pressing business elsewhere.

“Should I be offended by that?” he asked the DaTyrk.

“Ha-Haaa!” Farisce grinned broadly for a time, but then his smile faded as he approached the soaked Bosmer, “My oldest friend, even the most soul-blinded person could see your mood is as dark as those clouds at the sky. What ails you brother? Come!” Farisce beckoned the Aide to follow towards the back of the shop. The DaTyrk placed himself behind the counter and held a hand up to stop Trellanwr before he could begin talking.

Farisce made a fist, and the Bosmer watched as the conjuration magicks played around it until the DaTyrk released it with a flick of his fingers. A Gloom-Wraith appeared a short distance away, hanging in the air with its familiar arms out, head hung down appearance. The Wraith tilted its head as it regarded Trellanwr and made a quiet mournful whine.

“Yes yes, it’s him.” Farisce said to the Wraith, “I’m sure he’s pleased to see you too. Now go watch the shop, we don’t want any unforeseen guests do we?”

The Gloom-Wraith made another mournful sound and turned about, heading slowly down the aisle.

“And don’t touch anything!” the DaTyrk shouted, “You’ll get goop on the stuff!” he looked at Trellanwr, “People don’t like goop on their stuff.” Farisce shook his head seriously while wiping his hands on his cream robes.

The Bosmer raised his eyebrows in a mock-shock gesture.



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



“It’s been a bit of a morning, to be honest-”

“Ad!” Farisce pointed at Trellanwr, “Ad-ad-ad!”

“Add what?”

The DaTyrk frowned, “Nooo, silly, I have just the cure for your mood!”

“I don’t really have time-”

“Ssssshhhhh! There’s always time. Now what do you think of this!” Farisce reached under the counter and lifted up what appeared to be a representation of a Gloom-Wraith – complete with crown – on a spring, attached to a wooden base. He placed the mini-Wraith on the counter.

“What is it?” asked Trellanwr with a quizzical look on his face.

A whine was heard from the other end of the shop, “You mind your language you!” Farisce shouted back, “Nobody asked for your opinion. My dear brother, it’s a toy!” the DaTyrk said, grinning, and for effect pulled the wraith back and released it, so that it wobbled around on its spring. “The finest Yokudan wafer-metal work.” Farisce pointed and nodded proudly, “You can play with it on your desk!” and just for further proof, he pulled it back and released it again.

“Why would?..Nevermind.” The Bosmer then related the tale of the morning so far.

Farisce made shocked noises and punctuated the conversation with bursts of his colourful Cypriit tongue. As Trellanwr produced the lists of names, Farisce took the paper and read through them. His face darkened and he produced a long and profound litany in purest Cypriit that even Trellanwr was hard pressed to follow.

“Can you get keep this safe until Bar’cloore makes another run?”

Farisce nodded in reply, not taking his eyes off the list. “They can have it sooner than that.”

“Oh? Oh, of course, it’s not been long since he’s been about then?”

The DaTyrk just looked at Trellanwr and tilted his head.

“Oh, right, you can’t tell me anything.”

Farisce bowed his head in apology then went back to the lists. “There’s only one way this travesty can be righted brother. I can see no other way out of this.”

Trellanwr frowned and looked questioningly at the shopkeep.

The DaTyrk reached under the counter and proudly flourished, “A box of spiced tea from Yokuda! For you, change from ten goldmarks!”

A slightly shocked but less surprised Trellanwr shook his head and asked, “How much change?”

“Well, one brass. But that’s doing myself down!”

Trellanwr laughed.

“There it is!” cried Farisce with the broadest smile. “Ah brother, we live in dangerous times, where even the good, great and mighty may tremble at the slightest shadow. It is good to see you still alive.”

“And you my friend.”

“What of this Areldur you’re to see? From what I hear, this,” Farisce waved one of the lists, “is not the sort of news he would take lightly.”

“He doesn’t know yet. I’m to take him to The Halwich Building to meet the Overlord...really quite soon actually.”

“The Halwich Building?”

Trellanwr nodded.

“What horrible ironic torture does our beloved Overlord have in store there, I wonder? He is a most vexing individual.” Farisce sighed.

There was silence for a second, a silence which was suddenly filled by the noise of the Gloom-Wraith squealing as it knocked something over. It moved away from the detritus, keening quietly to itself.

Farisce sighed and rubbed a hand down his face.

“I’d best go.” Said the Bosmer.

The DaTyrk nodded. “Ah, a sadness. Very well. Be safe brother.”

Farisce extended his arm and Trellanwr grasped it in the show of brotherhood. The Bosmer nodded his head in farewell and then made his way towards the door.

“Wait!” shouted the shopkeep.

Trellanwr spun around quickly but sagged somewhat as he saw what Farisce was holding.

“Map?” the DaTyrk said.



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As if the rain had actually been mirroring the Bosmer’s mood, the clouds were lightening as Trellanwr made his way quickly back to the healing Temple. Not quite at the break-neck speed as before, nevertheless, the Aide still needed to be back quickly.

He and Areldur still had to make the meeting promptly, so there would be little time for the Fleet Admiral’s brand of hysterics.

Over the previous few days, Trellanwr had visited Nol Areldur several times as he began to recover. What surprised the Bosmer the most about the visits was how easy it was to like the Fleet Admiral; and how fascinated he had become with the tales of the sea that Areldur would suddenly launch into. And so, while Trellanwr, Aide to Overlord Tcheet, would most definitely never suggest that anything approaching friendship was forming, the Bosmer that was Trellanwr would admit to himself that mutual respect would not be far from the truth of it.

Trellanwr had decided to tell the Fleet Admiral the truth about Cestra from the start, instead of having Tcheet simply drop it on Areldur as an aside, as he imagined the Overlord might delight in. However, knowing what had happened with the news of his daughter’s death, the Bosmer had concerns over how this news would be received.

But still, if he lost it again here, at least the Fleet Admiral was already where he could be put back together, again. Trellanwr thought.



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The Bosmer made his way through the Temple. When he reached the ward that had been tasked with the care of the Fleet Admiral, the first thing he saw on coming through the double doors was the room to one side, containing all the bodies of the guards.

Didn’t I just leave this party? He thought to himself.

“Oh, it’s you.” Said a voice.

Trellanwr turned his head, “Again, Maircaln, the delight I feel at our repeated meeting never begins, sorry, ends...Yes, meant ends there. Is Areldur ready?”

The healer nodded. “When will my investigator be here?”

“Well, I sent someone to get him, so I should imagine it will be when he gets here. May I?” The Bosmer gestured towards the room of the Fleet Admiral.

Maircaln looked as if she was about to say something, thought better of it and waved Trellanwr away, taking herself off to the nurses congregated around a workstation, to read some notes.

“Trellanwr.” Maircaln called to his retreating back.

The Bosmer turned and said menacingly, “Aide Trellanwr.”

“Be careful with him. It would be a waste to have to patch him up again.”

The Aide smirked to himself as he turned away. “I’ll be sure to mention your concerns to the Overlord, Maircaln.”

He reached the door and a knot of apprehension formed in the pit of his stomach. Dammit, get it together. Trellanwr pushed the door open.



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“So, are we going far and do I get a comfort break in the middle? I am old you know?” said the Fleet Admiral as soon as the Bosmer entered the room.

Trellanwr counted off on his fingers. “No; No; No you’re not, you’re barely middle aged. We’re not going that far...” The Bosmer trailed off and walked to the window. He noted that the rain had finally stopped, though the thick blanket of cloud refused to surrender its grip.

A growling noise came from his middle. Trellanwr frowned and sighed whilst rubbing his empty stomach.

“Aww, did we forget to eat before we skipped out to serve this morning?”

Trellanwr regarded the Fleet Admiral, “You know when people make empty bragging declarations, usually about having done something before breakfast?”

“Yes?”

“Well I’ve done rather a lot this morning, including, it has to be said, kill over a dozen guards...Well, with a little help.”

Areldur shook his head, stopped and then gestured with it towards the other room that contained the bodies.

“Yes, I’m aware of those. Ah...Yes, about them...” Trellanwr suddenly felt weak. He closed his eyes, rubbed his neck and cast a restorative. As he reopened his eyes, he took a step back. The Fleet Admiral was stood in front of him, holding out a plate with a couple of pieces of toast on them.

“Go on, I can’t eat them, looks like you will need them for what we’re off to do.”

“Oh damn.” Trellanwr sighed exasperatedly. “Look, there’s no time for this. Please, sit down...Please?”

The Altmer frowned and sat on the bed, the plate beside him.

“Look...Nol...”

“Don’t worry, lad.” Areldur said softly, “I know.”

Trellanwr frowned.

Nol nodded, “I know.”

“What? How?”

The Fleet Admiral smiled, “Just one of the mysteries of the Universe for you. Was it worth it? Did Ces hurt him at all?”

“Yes...Not permanently though...Well, maybe she did more invisible damage, he had quite the flash-burn on his head...” Trellanwr sighed, and watched as the Fleet Admiral stared at out of the windows, lost in some past memory. “I’m sorry...Nol...We have to go. Now.”

Nol Areldur nodded, stood up and pulled his casual clothes straight. “I miss my damned uniform.” He said.

Trellanwr smiled, crossed to the door and held it open for the Fleet Admiral. As Areldur passed, the Bosmer saluted.

Nol laughed, “Nice try, lad.”

“I am sorry. For all of it.” Trellanwr said quietly.

The Fleet Admiral nodded.



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[mALX]

I love the character of Trellanwr, you have done an Awesome job developing him! I keep hoping he will be a part of the next chapters, lol. Great Write!

[Colonel Mustard]

Did you just make a snarky Gloom Wraith shopkeeper as a character? Did you really?

*Rereads chapter*

You did. And thus you make one of those throwaway characters who somehow managed to completely steal the show. Because that Gloom Wraith was awesome; forget this part of the story focussing on Trellanwr! Gloom Wraith, I say! Gloom Wraith!!

Or at the very least, his own spin-off series.

[Grits]

Oh my gosh, I love that the whole rooftop-jumping trip was made possible by a spell that gave Trellanwr a dry landing.

Farisce is another of your instantly captivating characters. This is the part where I try very hard not to ask for a new series, “Tales of the DaTyrk.” At least not yet!!

“Ssssshhhhh! There’s always time. Now what do you think of this!” Farisce reached under the counter and lifted up what appeared to be a representation of a Gloom-Wraith – complete with crown – on a spring, attached to a wooden base. He placed the mini-Wraith on the counter.

“I am sorry. For all of it.” Trellanwr said quietly.

Ugh, here they go. With Trellanwr already apologizing, it’s got to be pretty bad. I really enjoyed the meeting with Farisce. If the weather reflects Trellanwr's mood in the next part, I guess there will be a storm. Yikes, Nol!!