Trouble never comes alone Options

[McBadgere]

Brilliant!!... ...

Thoroughly enjoyed that!...

Silent Fist is awesome!!... ...Proper loved that bit at the end with the shout...

I hope Spar doesn't turn on him...That would be sad... ...

But still...If she does it'll have been brilliantly done... ...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

[jack cloudy]

The Thu'um is hard to describe. At times it feels less like the uber-awesome unique hero-magic the game wants it to be and more like a random assortment of effects that were considered cool or didn't fit into the magic schools anymore. In fact, some of the Shouts are pretty similar to old spells we no longer get as regular magic.

For the most part, Thu'ums are indeed relatively unguided. There are ones that focus on the shouter, while others effect the whole world or are thrown forward like a fireball. And yes, a FusRoDa will bowl over anything or anyone unfortunate enough to be in front of you. Thu'ums have no concept of friendly fire and one of the game's expansions added a perk so that your followers stop taking damage from getting in front of your shouts.

Now anyone can learn the Thu'um, which in my book means it is just another school of magic, ignoring all the mythical mumbojumbo the Nords attach to it. The only thing that makes the player character different is that they can instalearn words by looking at a wall found in nearly every Barrow. The one with the text that had Fist throw up a dustcloud here. Each Shout has three walls assigned to it (except FusRoDa since it is learned through plot). Now each wall actually has all words on it, but only one ever seems to be active for vacuuming.


Regarding its use in the story here, I wanted to show that the lich and Fist were both using the same Shout at the same time. The only difference being that the lich was only using FusRo wheras Fist went for the full FusRoDa (basically, Shouts are made up of three components. The more you use, the more powerful and the longer the cooldown.) Except I also didn't want to go right out and say Fist had the Thu'um until he actually used it in battle. I hope it worked out from the reader's perspective.



Chapter 1.12


Though the questions were important, I didn't ask a single one of them. This was for two reasons. The first one was that I needed more information before I could know if it was safe to ask. Proventius told me the Companions were against any form of magic on principle and I had no reason to doubt him on that point. Yet here was one who posessed the knowledge and use of a form of magic. One that was hard to hide. Ulfric could have waved it off as mere luck and charisma, but his cries only made men stumble, not send them flying in pieces.


The second reason was a more urgent one. I wished to be off the mountain before nightfall.


So I simply put some scraps of linen which had been drenched in the restoratives upon his wounds and then gathered anything I felt we might need on the way back. My sword was one such item naturally, even though the lich's knife appeared to be the superior weapon in all aspects but reach. That surprised me even more than its bony material had. Given its age, and the fact it was carved from bone, I would have expected it to be extremely brittle but it was far from such. When I struck an edge of the runed wall, it was the stone that chipped, not the knife. And there was a vague tingling that hinted at some sort of enchantment.
"I guess it is just as with Divine artefacts. They don't make them like they used to. I should see if I can recharge it back in Whiterun."


When I turned away from the wall I spotted the old hero's mask. I stooped down to pick it up and shot a quick glance at the stairs. I could see Fist's head just peeking out above the podium, but he wasn't looking this way. If anything, his disinterest was as unnerving as being watched by him would have been. He acted as if there was nothing left of interest to him here, as if he'd learned and knew everything there was to know about the place. Still, it was for the best. I inspected the mask like I had the knife before burying it in my pack. All I could tell was that it was carved from the same kind of heavy bone the knife had. I figured it would make a nice helmet, if I added a decent amount of padding to the inside, something to cover the back of my head and figured a way to enlarge its nostrils for easier breathing. Speaking about it from a historical perspective though, Farengar would be able to make more of it than I could.


My pack was full at this point and I had to leave out the gold claw to make room for the mask. I strung the key up tight to the outside with one of the backpack's cords so it wouldn't swing and hit me with every step. Finally I picked up, relit the torch and called out to the Breton that it was time to go. We went back the way we came, through the ceremonial entryhall and ascended the looping passages and chambers of the newer tomb. Just because we'd been there before did not mean we walked at leisure. Our eyes scanned every alcove and sarcophagus in case a corpse had decided to become a Draugr to replace the earlier losses. Without thinking, I'd drawn the knife instead of my makeshift blade.



No Draugr or traps stood in our way. Fist filled a sack with random knickknacks, something he hadn't done on the way in. I figured this was on Vilkas' orders as he didn't spend any time appraising the items he tucked in. He also took a handfull of Draugr axes, bound them together and strapped the whole to the filled sack. I was beginning to feel more confident when we neared the spider's chamber. That was, until we came upon Faendal.


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~~

The Bosmer seemed to have recovered from his incapacitating panic attack. In its case, he'd picked up a case of self-entitled anger.

"You evil witch." He snarled at me when we came around the corner. I noticed he was holding the lantern in one hand and his bow in the other. At least it meant he couldn't draw. Not that I thought he was capable of it, but it was good to know. The mer continued to rage and whatever I said to him only seemed to make it worse.
"Do you want me dead as well?! How could you abandon me with those spiders?!"
"I gave you the lantern."
"And that's supposed to make it right? What if it ran out of oil? Then what would you do? Say 'sorry'?! You are not a woman, you're a heartless demon!"


By this point I was starting to lose my patience with him. It was clear to me that the mer was still shaken by everything that had happened. The dragon, the big spider, the thief that tried to kill him, then the undead. He'd pretty much snapped.
"Faendal." I said evenly and walked closer, moving slowly so he wasn't aware of it in his anger. It did however, meant that he saw what now hung to my backpack. His eyes narrowed and his grip on the bow tightened enough to make the wood creak.
"The claw." He hissed. "Now I get it. I thought you were an innocent lass who'd lost her home in the war, but now I know your true colours. Clearing your name wasn't enough for you. You had to steal the claw again so you could get whatever those Nords put here! You tried to kill me just to make some coin! You're just another cutthroat, not caring what happens as long as you get to fill your pockets!"


Just then Fist stopped beside me. He made a show of shaking the kinks out of his neck and cracking his knuckles. I still didn't believe Faendal was going to attack me, and he was too stiff to succeed if he'd tried, but it made the mer reconsider his behaviour and back off for a bit. I tucked the knife behind my belt and handed the torch over to the Companion.
"I don't care what you think." I said then, "Now if we're done debating my morals, I suggest we leave."


"If it wasn't for Camilla I'd never..." The elf still sputtered but by now I'd truly had enough. I wasn't going to say that the hunter didn't have a point, that perhaps I should have at least tried to explain to him why it was safest for all of us to leave him here, or perhaps I should have taken the risk of waiting till he got over the worst of his shock. But I was not going to waste time on him now. If we had to spend the night inside the tomb, he'd never stop complaining.
"Yes, yes." I cut him off. "You want to make little Faendals with her. I get it. Now shut up before I walk off without you again."
Quickly, not giving him a chance to object, I stepped in and snatched the lantern out of his hand. "While taking this."


All three of us went back through the spider's chamber and Faendal had no choice but to keep up and stay within our light. Up we moved in silence, to the massive doors that sealed off the tomb. Fist and I pushed to open them and the Bosmer was the first to move outside. At the moment, I didn't mind. He was likely of mind to just run off ahead of us, back to mines near Riverwood. It didn't matter to me or my mission. But I'd forgotten about the dragon.


The Breton and I slipped through the crack we'd opened, just in time to see the elf turn on his heels and dash behind one of the thick pillars that held up the overhang. I made a split decision, tossed away the lantern, dove forward close to the ground and rolled behind the same pillar Faendal had taken for cover. Not even a moment later a deafening roar of overheated air crashed on the other side of the pillar and surged passed us. I could feel the air burn upon my skin, in my nose, my mouth and exhaled before it could get to my lungs. Then the fire had passed and there was nothing left but scorched stone and the hot steam of boiled away snow.


Faendal and I were both coughing up a storm of our own but we appeared to be unharmed. It was a good thing the pillar was so wide. Three people could have stood side by side and still hidden behind it. Fist, who had evidently retreated back inside, now came upon us like a shadow in the fog. He cast a querying glance passed the stones we were using for cover but said nothing.
"The dragon woke up." I muttered and Faendal groaned.
"So I noticed!" He said.


I crawled to the edge of the pillar and peered around it. The fog was rapidly being blown away by the wind but for now I couldn't see the dragon and it probably couldn't see us. It was there though, I was sure of it. This wasn't some stupid animal. A mudcrab that challenges a rock it doesn't remember. This monster was smart, at least as smart as a wolf and probably even beyond. I remembered now more details on how it had operated at Helgen. For the most part it had been out of my view as I'd crawled through wreckage and played dead among the corpses. But the pattern in which the legionnaires had been picked off. First the battlemage, then the archers, and always from the rear. The dragon was aware enough of tactical formations and coördinated combat to counter them.


We weren't archers, or mages. Well, Faendal was an archer, but his bow was a smoldering ruin at this point. The dragon would be sitting right on the other side of the pillar, with a good dozen meters of open ground between us and it so it had a generous killing-zone for its fire.


I listened intently to my mind in the hope that Them would know a way out. But the other me was remarkably silent. Them worked on memories, past experiences. And I didn't have much experience with dragons, beyond running away and hoping it doesn't see me.
"Think. The mist isn't going to last long. The dragon will kill the first person to move. We can't wait it out. If starvation doesn't get us, the spiders will. No fire is going to stop them when it is time for the exodus." I said to myself.
"It is one enemy, and can therefore only focus its strength on one position. Split up then. Maximize the chance that at least someone survives. I should use the rope again. It doesn't know about that and will expect us to take the path. But if we all go for the rope we'll just have hung ourselves out as bait. Someone needs to be the bait, and risk the road."


The mist was getting dreadfully thin at this point. I could make out the barest hint of the dragon's silhouette, right where I'd already expected it to be.
"Faendal?" I called out over my shoulder, softly so the dragon would hopefully not hear. It had only seen the elf so far and with luck, it assumed that the Bosmer was the only one here.
"What? You have an idea?" The mer whispered back. I turned to see him peeking across the other side of the pillar. Then my hands were on his back and shoved him into the open.
"Yes. Run."





OOC: Spar's decision to betray Faendal would have been more shocking if he'd saved her bacon in the fight against the lich as per my original plan. But still, I had this scene planned for a long time as it almost perfectly shows a key aspect of her character.

This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Sep 13 2013, 10:47 PM

[haute ecole rider]

To be honest, if I had to choose between sacrificing Faendal or Fist, I'd pick the wood elf. Not because he's a wood elf, mind you, but rather because he was so useless in the ruin and such a nattering idiot. Fist proved himself to be a good one to have at your side, at least for the time being.

Fist's behavior and attitude continues to puzzle me. That's a good sign - it makes me want to keep reading. I only hope we get to find out more about him as the story winds on. I'm beginning to wonder if he is the Dovahkin in this story, assuming that this story has a Dovahkin.

I am looking forward to more!

[McBadgere]

Excellent stuff Jack!!...

Still loving the Companion-McFisto...Had to choose my words a bit carefully there... ...He's proper epic...Actually one of my fave chars that you've given us in either story... ...

Like the way he's protective of Spar, even if it's just for the money... ...

A brilliant chapter...Loved it!!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

[jack cloudy]

I consider this a failing on my part. I wanted to show that not everyone is a natural born zombieslayer. Some people are rather unsettled at the idea of curses or being doomed to forever walk through some forgotten tomb till some jerk with a silver sword and a bag to fill comes visiting. In the process however, I plain made him unlikeable.


As for Fist being Dovahkin, he has the potential for it at least. All I can say on the subject right now is that Spar isn't.


Also, we are getting close to the climax.



Chapter 1.13


The dragon let out a roar and I heard the beat of its wings the moment it saw the elf. As far as challenges went, I had never come across one as intimidating as this, but it cost precious time. Time Faendal used to save himself. The mer bolted like one of his arrows and threw himself into a wild run for safety. I peered around the pillar to see that he didn't take the path as I'd intended either, but scrambled down between the bends. The dragon took for the skies in pursuit.


"Now." I said and ran off passed the side of the Barrow. I slid over the edge, grabbing the rope as it came within hand's reach and dropped down the slopes. It was a sloppy descent and a noisy one, but time was of the essence. There was nothing I could do about the tracks Fist and I left in the snowbanks on the ledge and here on the mountainside we were completely exposed. I rappelled down as quickly as I could, constantly teetering on the fine edge between scraping away the soft leather of my gloves and losing my grip entirely. Pebbles and bigger debris clattered down from our feet. With the Breton above me, I was subjected to a constant shower of rocks and ice. If it hadn't been for my helmet, though it was more designed to protect against the cold than blunt battery, I probably would have fallen.


Occasionally we heard the dragon's roar. It was a sign of good fortune whenever we heard its challenge. It meant that Faendal was still alive. I tried to get a fix on its location whenever I heard its call, but it was hard with the echoes of the mountain and the more pressing need to keep my footing. The best I could do was make an estimate of the giant beast's distance based on how loud it was. At first the roaring got softer, but by the time we crossed the treeline and the mountain smoothed out into the valley, it got louder. Which spurred us on to more haste.


I reached the bottom of the slope in less than a tenth of the time it had taken me to climb the mountain yet it still felt too long. I ignored my fatigue and kept moving, staying low and close to the trees so they would cover me from any aerial observers. I could hear the Breton follow in my wake. He was louder than I'd liked, clearly not accustomed to the basics of stealth.


The woods were but a thin belt straddling the mountain's roots. All the big trees had been cut down long ago to make room for farmland and grazing fields. The Whiterun of the past must have been bigger and more populous, for the farms had thinned out and the fields had been allowed to overgrow with thorny brush almost as tall as a man. Off in the distance I made out a badly maintained road, closely guarded by an equally poorly kept tower. I paused at the edge of the woods to consider whether or not we should keep moving. I was tired but could still reach the city if I maintained a relaxed pace and followed the easier footing the road would provide.


Another roar and Silent Fist pointed at the sky. I looked and saw a small blot gliding across the clouds. Too far away, too big and too fast to be a bird. It was the dragon and it seemed to be coming our way.

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We both dove back into the brushes that grew around the trees. We went down on our bellies and I spread handfuls of moss and mud over myself to enhance my camouflage. This would have been easier if I just knew magic, perhaps a spell of invisibility. But I didn't and besides, what if the dragon could detect the use of sorcery? Then all my attempts to hide would only make me stand out like a beacon.


I gestured at the Companion to do the same. The man frowned at first but after a moment did as I'd commanded him. He did seem to keep his distance more than usual. Why?
"Is this about Faendal?" I asked him softly. "The Bosmer is the fastest and most nimble among us. He knows every path and if he made it to the treeline, he'll be able to hide. Frankly, his odds for survival are better than our own. If I could have convinced him with words, I would have but as it was." I shrugged. What else was there to say? I wasn't going to apologize, either to the Breton or the Bosmer. It would be a waste of my breath.


Fist looked doubtful but he didn't make any objections when I led him into better cover. That was good. It meant he was more concerned with finishing an almost complete job than second-guess my decisions.


Meanwhile the dragon circled around and I heard it land on the mountainside. After a few minutes of silence, we risked a look at it. It turned out that the dragon had settled up in a crag on the mountainside. It had hidden itself as we had and only its head showed, swaying from left to right in the rhythm of the trees. We didn't need to guess who it was looking for. So far it hadn't seen us, but it clearly knew we were here. Was it smell? Doubtful. No, I bet it didn't smell or see or sense us otherwise, but it could roughly feel where we were. Only roughly.


Them piped up and I agreed. It had to be the cube. The lich's actions had definitely been guided by the artefact. It had avoided any action that could damage it until it looked like I was going to get away with it. The dragon had to be another guardian of the thing and it certainly behaved as if it was constrained by the same rules.


And there was more. It could burn us out, spreading its fire in such a way that we would suffocate but the cube and its contents remained unharmed. Afterwards it would be free to search the fields at its leasure. It had the power and time to do so. Even if it would take a century or more, the dragon could scour the fields for the little rock and its contents. If it was invulnerable. The fact that it hadn't done so proved to me that it at least feared the military might of a city as large as Whiterun.
"The dragon aims to kill us and will not leave till it has done so. But at the same time, it cannot achieve its purpose with wild destruction. Killing us is only a means to an end." I said and the Breton glanced at my backpack. I nodded to him and then crawled the other way till I had a good view of the open field that lay between us and the tower.


When it came down to a waiting game, the dragon held the advantage. Whiterun was clearly too far away for us to make it, but close enough for its troops to sally forth if they knew the creature was in their territory. Was Balgruuf the kind of man who would rather meet an enemy on the field than hide behind his walls? I supposed it wasn't really a question of courage. People like Hrongar would insist upon attacking the dragon before it could do harm, Farengar would act like a child who's been promised a toy when he heard how close the dragon was. As for Balgruuf, he was the leader of a city in war. It wouldn't take him long to realize that his walls didn't offer any protection against an enemy that could fly. The city with all its flammable buildings would be a deathtrap.


But as long as the dragon stayed here, as long as we stayed here, they wouldn't know and wouldn't sally. I realized that we had to force a move out of it without dying.


My thoughts went back to the cube and the leash it held upon the beast's destructive nature. Even if it knew exactly where we were, it wouldn't strike at us if it couldn't reach with its claws. I looked at the tower again and considered it. It was not going to hold up if the dragon actually tried to take it down, but it wouldn't have to. All it had to be was a place for us to hide in and wait for reinforcements. If we could get there and make fire to signal Whiterun, they'd learn about the dragon and come.


How good was it sense for the cube? Good enough to know we were in this stretch of the woods it seemed. We were no longer on a direct line with the rope and hadn't gone straight towards Whiterun either. I was quite certain it would know we had moved by the time we reached the tower. And if it didn't, I wasn't going to complain. Gaiden Shinji was best known for claiming that it was skill that let one survive, but he didn't deny luck. The wise man never expects it, but he will take advantage when it comes.


"Now then, a warrior is never idle. When he rests his arm, he labors his soul. I want you to memorize the path you will take when we make our run for the tower in the night. Take your time for it so you don't make a mistake." I whispered to the Companion. To be honest, I would be the one carrying the cube. So even if Fist made a wrong turn or tripped and fell in the dark, he would likely be safe. But if he'd taken the cube and died in the dark, finding it again would be tricky. And the Thalmor would not let Whiterun's army pass the gates without her. I couldn't risk that to happen. But if I died, well I wouldn't worry about anything anymore.

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While the sun slowly sank beneath the mountains, I performed the necessary preparations. I wasn't like the Breton. Just one pass of my eyes across the fields was enough for me to later remember all the wild-trails, all the boulders, pits and treacherous mudslides. After that, I had time to spare. I took a knife to my pack and carved it into ribbons. When we ran I wanted to be as light as possible. I would carry no food, no water, not the map or anything else I could leave behind. I only kept the cube, torch, knife and the mask which I tied to my body in such a way that they would not hinder my balance or snag on a bush. Everything else I buried and I convinced the Companion to do the same with his treasure. If he lived, he could return for it later.

We ate and drank early so the nutrition could be turned into energy for our legs. Then, we waited.

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When night came it was as complete as the inside of a coffin. Skyrim had no lanterns lighting the roads as in civilized High Rock, and even its cities where only lit with the occasional bonfire and the smaller light of a torch in a guardsman's hand. We could still see the watchtower by two such fireflies at its top and I removed the torch from my possessions. Everything else in the field between there and Whiterun was perfectly black. There might have been enough light to see at least something on a clear night, but heavy clouds kept the stars and the moons out of sight. It suited me well.

I looked to my right where the Companion lay, but couldn't see him. The only sign of his presence was the sound of his breath and the touch of our fingertips meeting.
"Get ready. I go first, count to five and follow." I whispered to him. That should give me enough of a headstart to prevent any collisions. The man grunted in agreement and I took a deep breath. Then I crawled ahead till I knew I was out of the bushes and in the open field. I scrambled to my feet and ran.

[haute ecole rider]

I am surprised that no one has commented on this story yet. I apologize for not doing so earlier. I really enjoyed reading Spar's compulsion to explain to Fist why she pushed Faendal out in front of the dragon. It showed an intriguing development in their ongoing relationship that is as revealing of Fist's personality as it is of Spar's character.

Short post, I know, but I understand how the story flow can dictate the post length. It does leave me wanting more.

And I hope that in my bumping this story up more people will see this update and comment!

[McBadgere]

I am surprised that no one has commented on this story yet. And I hope that in my bumping this story up more people will see this update and comment!

I saw it!!...I was getting around to it!!...

I was kinda not here for a while, remember?...Oh, you didn't notice...*Sighs and bites knuckle*...

I'll post a comment as soon as I get 'round to it, more than likely it'll be amazing though... ...

*Applauds heartily in antici-pation*... ...

[jack cloudy]

Almost there. Almost but not quite. So in this update Spar runs towards the climax of this chapter.




Chapter 1.14


I ran. Along bushes, slipping down small slopes and jumping crevasses. Wild goats, elks, wolves and possibly even a bear or two had drawn trails through the grass which made it easy to keep a good pace for the first half. But animals are smart enough to avoid civilization, at least the big ones which can be considered a threat or a good meal and warm fur. So for the second half I had to get more creative. The path I'd chosen was a compromise between speed, directness and ease of travel. Some of the brush and undergrowth possessed gaps I could cross by going down on my knees, slide through the gap and get back up running. There was a pond. Five boulders stuck out over the water and I leapt from one to the other without missing a pace.


It was another gamble. At the Barrow I'd gambled that the dragon would blindly pursue the first man it saw. Now I gambled that it couldn't maintain its vigilance forever. It was almost a law of nature that as a being grew larger, it grew slower and required more rest. A bee never sat still for even a moment in its busy but short life, flitting from flower to flower as quick and precise as a master swordsman's blade. The mammoth by contrast moved but slowly, each step measured and contemplated upon. Most of its days were spent grazing in a half-sleep. A dragon was even larger and this one, according to Faendal at least, had been hibernating on top of that. I hoped that it had been struggling to stay awake all this time and that as the hours went by, it had been losing that battle.


But still, I had to expect it to wake up again the moment it sensed the cube moving. The only question that remained was how long it would take. Resting after killing the lich and the long ascend afterwards had given it plenty of time to take up its position last time. This time would be different.


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The torchlight atop the watchtower served me as a compass but in retrospect I could have done it blind. I pounded their door, an ill-fitting pane of thick wood, and yelled for attention. When I saw the light of the two torches peering over the edge I yelled again.
"Signal Whiterun that an army is approaching! It's actually a dragon but you don't have a specific signal for that!"
I heard them converse in words too soft to follow and one of the torches disappeared. Where was Fist? He couldn't have taken the same path as I had. Perhaps if he'd been trained by Khajiti acrobats but he was too big and stiff. It would take him some time and a longer path to catch up. I saw light through the cracks between door and stone. A soldier opened the door and set his torch in an empty sconch. He looked like everyone else in the gloom with the light behind him. Big, bearded and smelling of mead. It made me wonder how I looked to him. Battered, burned, covered in mud, twigs and probably a few bugs as well. I pushed the thought aside and repeated my instructions.


"Heh? Imperial?" The soldier said to me in Skyrimese.
"Oblivion curse this backwards icepit." I thought. All my memories had said that Cyrodiilic was the common tongue of Tamriel but I was beginning to see that memories could lie. I repeated myself, slower, in case he'd just misunderstood but no, Cyrodiilic was not this man's tongue.
"Say to Whiterun." I stammered next in his language and tried to find the words to use. "Many Stormcloak."


"The Stormcloaks are coming? From the west? Are you crazy?" Wrong choice. Part of me, probably Them, couldn't help but file this part of information away. The Stormcloaks couldn't come from the west. South were the ruins of Helgen which had definitely been in Imperial hands. North were mountains and therefore by rule of elimination, the Stormcloak territory had to be to the east. It wasn't important. I had no plans to visit General Ulfric, though I was curious to what had compelled him to rebel, and I had better things to worry about right now.


I held up my hands in a pacifying gesture and tried to explain in my rough Skyrimese.
"No Stormcloak, but you not know how say thing. So say Stormcloak. Fix bad later." Again, wrong choice of words as it turned out.


The man grabbed me with both hands by my vest and almost lifted me clear off the ground as he hissed and spat in my face.
"Is this a joke? This some kind of banditry?" He said. What had set him off? Had I underestimated the paranoia the war had set in him, or was he just ill-tempered due to lack of sleep? I couldn't afford having to actually fight the soldiers I'd come to seek help from. But this stupid Nord wasn't making things easy.
"I estimate two minutes at the most," I muttered desperately, slipping back into Cyrodiilic, "then you lose unrestricted access to topside."


Where was Fist? He should have made it to the tower by now. Did he get turned around and went off the path he'd chosen? The man was no tracker and perhaps I'd asked to much of his pathfinding skills. But be that as it may, he should be able to use the torchlight of the watchtower as a reference point. The soldier had kept his voice down so far and his compatriot was still standing watch on top, unaware of what was playing right beneath him. Did the Breton get tangled up in the bushes? Or did he run off for Whiterun? No, he wasn't like that. He had to be struggling through the field.


If my attempts at using the Nord's language had been terrible, using Cyrodiilic at this point proved to be simply disastrous. He took it as proof that I was some conniving spy or something!
"What is this? Some kind of Imperial trick? Did your general decide to violate our neutrality and pin the blame on Ulfric?" I cursed my inability to communicate. There was no time for stupid misunderstandings and powerplays. Whiterun had to be signalled before the dragon got here and sealed off the towertop. My mission was too important to be hindered. By anyone. While the Nord was dribbling and raving in my face, I cast my eyes at the chamber behind him and catalogued what I saw.


Bare stones, one nearly expended torch in a sconce, stairs circling along the outer wall on my right and ending in a closed trapdoor. Table and stools for two, two dirty plates showing pointing at an old meal. A few knucklebones between the plates, like the ones used in games of chance all across Tamriel. One bedroll in a corner. No crates, sacks, shelves or other signs to hint at a long-term occupation. Considering the distance to Whiterun, I considered it likely that the guards were relieved each day and simply brought their own meals. Enough food for a single day wouldn't take up much space in a pack. There had been two torches moving when I ran here and the table and bedroll suggested that two soldiers were all who occupied the place. One was now here trying to intimidate me. The other I couldn't see, definitely still up on top then.


How much time was left before the dragon would be roused from its sleep? Was it already stalking through the grass like an oversized wolf, avoiding the sound of wingbeats or its roar? Or did its cube-sensing ability diminish while resting and so it would remain where it was till morning? I didn't want to take the chance of being wrong and assumed that the beast was already moving in. Which left the guard. I tried one last time but couldn't even get a full sentence out before he started growling about Imperial honour or lack thereof. He wasn't giving me a chance to explain, though I doubted I could even if given the opportunity to do so.


I turned all of my focus on him next. I measured the tension in his muscles, the placement of his feet. The armour he wore, simple chain and yellow scarf that was Whiterun's uniform, and the weapon, equally simple one-handed axe looped to his belt. No helmet, probably considered too uncomfortable and unnecessary while on an extended watch with no superiors to enforce discipline. There were gaps in the chain as well, old impacts that hadn't been fixed. I would have to speak with Hrongar about that later. I might not be part of Whiterun's forces, but this kind of laxness irritated me. But that talk would not help this one unless he let go off me right this instant. If the watchmen weren't going to help I would just have to get them out of the way and do it myself. Even without knowledge of the specific signals, I should get a response out of the city if I made enough of a ruckus. Perhaps I could put fire to the tall grass at the tower's base, mimic an attack.


But before all that I had to deal with the Nord who was holding me. I listened to Them's babble and prepared a plan of attack. Once I was set into motion, there would be no chance for hesitation or second-guessing so I had to make sure I did it right.


A headbutt right after the man exhaled would stun him long enough and prevent any screaming while I drove my knife through one of the damaged areas over his gut and then upwards through the midrif to puncture the heart and lungs. Anyone's instinct at this point would be to open their hands which would give me the opportunity to kick the side of his knee, taking him off balance and preventing any last-moment counterattacks. That would remove one of two from the equation. I would not have the advantage of surprise and preplanned form of attack on his colleague but given the circumstances, I would just have to risk a direct confrontation.


I already had one hand on the dagger strapped to my back where it had conveniently been hidden from his view. The other plucked at the cord and grabbed a loose end so I could undo the knot and cut through it with one swift motion. The soldier's warm, stinking breath washed over my face as his lungs emptied.


Then, the dragon roared and set the forest beneath it ablaze in what I would swear was a fit of rage. Rage over the rabbit that bolted out from under its nose.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~

For once, I was actually glad for the beast. Which surprised me for a moment.
"That is thing that is bad. Thing of Helgen." I said to the Nord. He'd already let go when he heard the roar. Now he looked to where the sound had come from and saw the fire. In an instant his angry frown made way for realization and with it fear.
"Shor's bones." He said and then threw his head up in his neck as he yelled at the other soldier. "Dragon, Jorlof! Get those fireworks lit! You know, from the new crate!"


The Nord drew me inside and shut the door behind us. A large board was set across to lock it in place. Fist wasn't going to get in now and I had the feeling the Nords weren't planning on opening it until half Whiterun was banging on their door. I hoped he had the good sense to stay clear now because I wasn't going to open the door either.
"We heard those sounds earlier today, but didn't think it was the dragon coming." The soldier said as if to apologize.
"You not know dragonsound?" I asked him and he gave me an incredulous look.
"Hey now, woman. Stormcloaks attacking from the west may be impossible, but there is a bunch of them sneaking around hereabouts like cowards. And they make horns to scare us. Us, or the Impies in that fort just up the road. We were just thinking it was more of that. Besides, how in Oblivion are we supposed to know what a dragon sounds like?"


Above us the trapdoor was thrown open. For a moment I saw a flashing of lights in every coloured, then my vision was cut off by the silhouette of a second Nord scrambling down the stairs, throwing the trapdoor back down behind him.
"Woah! That was too close. I could hear it fly over me." He cried.
"Never ran so fast in my life." He added.


And with that my part was done. Through Jorlof's warning signals Silent Fist knew I was here. The dragon knew I was here. And Whiterun knew. The best news perhaps was that I had not been forced to kill the two men. It wasn't that I would feel guilty over it, but how was I going to explain the two bodies with knifewounds?
"They actually did have a warning specific to dragons. I underestimated the Jarl."


Again I waited. The Nords threw fearful eyes to the ceiling every time we heard the beat of massive wings or felt the floor rumble as the dragon landed nearby. The creature was stalking the tower, soft tremors accompanying every step it took like wardrums. Until it stopped right before the door. That wasn't a coincidence.
"Same thing it did at the Barrow. Guard the exit and spit fire the moment something comes out. But that's ok. It's not going to do anything while I have the cube and when the Jarl sorties his army it will be driven away."



We waited and after some time of silence Jorlof drew up his courage. He moved to open the door for a peek but I took his arm and shook his head.
"No. It is still here." I warned him. As if to agree with me, there was a loud crash and the whole tower shook. Old plaster fell from the ceiling. Again a crash and this time some brick came down, forcing us to run away from the walls to the center of the room.


"By the gods! It is breaking the tower! We'll be buried!" The nameless Nord yelled. But that was impossible. I'd been sure of it! The dragon would do everything it could to retrieve the cube without risking damage to it. Only when retrieval became impossible would it seek to destroy it. All I was doing was hiding from it till I could escape, delaying its recapture of the cube but by no means making it seem impossible. It shouldn't be trying to bury us alive!


I'd miscalculated.

[haute ecole rider]

And the tension mounts! I'm glad too that Spar didn't have to kill those two numbnuts. Explaining stuff like that to the Jarl is likely to make things worse. Not a desirable outcome to be sure.

And where is Fist, indeed? I hope he survives this - I was getting to like the guy.

[jack cloudy]

And here's the climax. After this just some tying up and we're ready for chapter 2.


Chapter 1.15


What could I do? All I had were the cube, my knife and the strange mask. Neither were going to stop a dragon. Unless...
"No" Them simply said to my idea. A stone fragment struck my back and I grimaced. I couldn't just sit here and wait to die. Which was pretty much all that Them could come up with.
"You're absolutely useless." I muttered and shut the voice out. I'd survived so far on doing stupid things. One more time wasn't so hard now.


Quickly I fastened the mask to my face. It was a loose fit but it would do. The tower shook again as the dragon threw itself against it. For a moment I thought it was odd that it hadn't broken through yet. It was as if it was trying to bring the structure down in a controlled manner. I waited till right after it struck the building once more, then I sprinted for the door, threw off the board and kicked it open. The two guards and their thoughts on my actions weren't in my mind. All that existed now was the dragon.


It caught sight of me almost immediately and paused. Was it confused at the appearance of someone who wore the mask of its guardian? I recalled the carvings on the walls in the Barrow. Winged men and processions watched over by the head of a dragon. I had been right all along. No, Farengar had been right. Dragons were worshipped in the past. So the men I'd seen were head-worshippers. Priests. Then the knife I held was not a weapon, but a tool of sacrifice.
"Blood turned into fire." I thought.


The dragon lowered its head and let out a deep rumble. But it didn't attack. I brought up my hands, one empty, the other holding the boneblade. Its edge went across my palm and sliced. I squeezed and let blood fall. The thick droplets didn't change into flames though.
"Symbolic exaggeration. Hope bleeding to death suffices."
It sat down on its hunches and stared at me now. I hadn't been burned or eaten yet though which I took as a good sign.
"I might just pull this," I thought. Then the mask slipped and fell away.


"Tafiir Nikrin." The dragon said to me and then rose up to pounce. Instantly I took the cube out and put my knife to it. The beast froze again but said nothing more. Its head swung back across its flank for a moment then returned to me. It was hard to keep a grip on the little stone box. My own blood was making the already slick surface even more slippery.
"The Jarl rallied. Of course. I made it too desperate." Whiterun had gone dark and whatever troops Balgruuf had sent carried no light. That meant they were slow and had to keep to the road. It also meant I had to keep the dragon pacified for quite a while longer. Just threatening its treasure wouldn't work. I needed more.


It had definitely uttered words. If I'd held any thoughts of it being just an animal, they were gone now. It could communicate. And that meant it could be manipulated.
"But I don't know Dragonish. What other languages would it know?" I had but three options. Modern Cyrodiilic, very crude modern Skyrimese and the first language ever conceived. Daedric. I didn't need to think what choice to make.
"It seems we are at an impasse. Care to negotiate?"


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~

The dragon seemed as surprised by my words as I had been by its. It needed a moment to clear its thoughts and form its next speech.
"Roti Nimuz. Rah Niwahlaan! Daedroth! Taazokaan Nisuleyksejuni!" Only one word was known to me. Daedroth. It believed I was a Daedra. That was not something I could take advantage of, but it had also let slip that it could understand what I was saying. Now that I could use.


"Refusing to use a language you are fluent in. You are a proud one. But it would help your case if you stepped off your throne and actually deigned to converse in a way that accomplishes mutual understanding." I said and waited for an answer. None came so after a while I shrugged.


"Your loss then."


The arrow stuck in its throat was still there. With all the flying around and towerbashing the being had done today, I considered it a miracle it hadn't fallen out yet. Right above it there was a bulge, a ridge that swelled and sank in a regular rythm. It was protected by an extra layer of thick scales that more resembled shields than a skin so it had to be important. Some sort of oversized Jugular?
"This is an interesting stone, isn't it? Or a box I should say." I said and lifted the cube slightly, being careful to keep the tip of the knife on it at all times. I had to keep the dragon thinking. As long as it was thinking it wasn't killing me and the army could get closer. If only I could get my blade between those plates. It was the best chance at killing the giant I had yet seen. But I'd be dead before I'd made a single step that way.


I had no idea what was inside the container. Going by the lack of weight and sound when shaken, I concluded that it was something soft and light. Probably a document of some sort.
"Yes, I solved the lock. It was only a simple rotational puzzle, a Scamp could do it. So, once again it is your loss. I already copied and documented the contents. So unfortunate you can't sense a replica."


The dragon protested loudly at that. Just where was its voice coming from? Its mouth didn't move in any perceivable manner when it spoke and it was far too large for proper vocalizing anyway. It sounded less like a voice really than a loud echo. In any case, I couldn't afford to be distracted now.
"It is rather useless to make demands when you know your words won't be understood. But I assume you have a brain and that therefore you were saying something along the lines of 'please tell me where the copies are'. Desires and needs. Now that's something we can negotiate on."



The 'negotiations' that followed were completely one-sided. And really it wasn't so much negotiating as me trying to win time while bluffing as little as possible. The dragon's continual refusal to use a proper language helped in this as it gave me plenty of opportunities to profess a measure of ignorance. Our conversation ended however when the watchtower came down around us.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~


A particularly large boulder struck the dragon right on the end of its snout, between the two steaming nostrils. The giant smacked into the ground and collapsed.


"That's right! Don't mess with the sons of Skyrim! Bringer of the end-times? Hah! I spit on your bones and piss on your mother!"


I looked up at the yelling. Jorlof and his friend were standing atop the ramparts, shaking their fists at the air in triumph. The idiots had courage I supposed, but it was too early to claim victory. The dragon had battered several fortified structures into submission with its head. Just one small rock wasn't going to lay it out. It was meant to be dropped on distinctly human infantry, not a mythical creature almost as big as the tower they stood on. The Nords had just been lucky they hit it on a relatively soft and sensitive part, instead of the reinforced bonecrest that guarded its eyes and the top of its skull.


Within moments the dragon reawoke and got back onto its feet. It shook its head back and forth and hissed at the two men from Whiterun. "Dukaanu. Ahraani."


Now was my chance, and the last option I had left. The guards might have had a deathwish, but they did manage to avert attention from myself. I sprang forward, dropping the cube in the process. The dragon didn't notice as it was completely occupied with punishing the earlier transgression. It aimed upwards for the top of the tower, something which appeared to be difficult for it to do with the heavy plates running over the back of its neck. It had to take a big step back to get the right angle, which only meant a few more paces for me to run.


I slipped between its hindlegs and followed its belly. The crushed remains of debris and some arrows caked its scales here. I thought about adding my own and faltered for a moment. Were there any vital organs or arteries here? Likely, but my knife simply wasn't long enough to get through the skin and muscle. Gutting it was out of the question.
"YYYOOOOLLLL!!!" The dragon roared and sprayed its breath across the watchtower. I was at its feet now. My feet stamped down on one of its front paws as I jumped up at my target. Both my hands squeezed the boneknife's handle and I stabbed it into the big vein with a yell and a prayer.



The curved edge bit into a thick plate, then scraped off to the side. I lost my grip on it and the weapon, along with a piece of scale, sailed off into the grass.


"Mal Sahlo Mun. Werid Nosi. Vikkil." The dragon said to me. It was bleeding from where I'd struck it, but it was a superficial wound at best, not the fatal blow I'd intended. The creature shuffled closer while swinging its head in random arcs, like a swordsman trying to lure his opponent into a false opening. I was no swordsman, especially now that I didn't have a weapon. My eyes followed the arc the knife had taken but in the darkness it was impossible to see. Still, I knew where it was. If only I could get there.


The dragon kept approaching, feinting a pair of lunges as I pressed myself against the wall of the watchtower. I felt cracks and craters behind me and wished they'd been bigger so I could hide within them. It was a stupid idea. Still, I tried. Them spoke to me, wanted to take over. For what? So I could die without panicking? No, Them said. To kill it.
"About time."


Take one step forward to obtain room to move. Ignore the feints, wait for the hesitation that marks the real attack. Dive left, grab the knife. Dragonhead follows, expecting an escape. Turn, cut, follow the line of bone into its eye.


It roars and recoils, drawing its head away from the attack. The earlier wound near its throat swings within striking distance. I attack, drive the weapon into the open spot, there where a scale is broken. Hand slips off, duck to avoid its wing. I draw back, making sure to stay within its blind spot. The knife is stuck in the muscle now, deeper than before but not deep enough.


The dragon backsteps and beats its wings. Can't let it take flight, can't attack or hide if it is in the air. I try to find an opening, find none.
"ROH-DAAAH!"


The dragon is driven flat against the ground. A man runs up, forcing his way through the thick growth.
"Dov!" He says, "Rotmulaagi Zol Mul." It is the Breton mercenary. I run in to use the opening. Aim for the knife, leap and kick the handle, drive it in as far as it can go. Then I take distance. Now wait.


The dragon roars and spits fire across the plains. Again the Breton shouts, drives the flames away on the wind. He runs at the wounded beast and throws a fist at its snout.
He yells, "Haal Krii Slen!" And punches with his other hand.


"Haal Krii Slen!" Punch.


"Haal Krii Slen!" Blood leaps from the point of impact.


"HAAL! KRII! SLEN!"


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~


I didn't know how long I'd watched Fist attack the dragon or how many times he'd struck it. I was in a daze. Not just from exhaustion and fear, but also from what happened at the end. A Being of myth, whose breath reduced men to ashes, that pulverized fortifications by striking them with its skull. That could have a large knive sink completely into a vital artery and still not die. As close to unstoppable and invincible as it could get and what had finally been the end of it? A halfnaked mute who literally beat it to death with his bare hands!


I was wary about moving in for a closer look, afraid that it could get back up again at any moment. No, it was definitely dead now. It's skull had been broken where the man had struck it. Now it was nothing more but a shapeless mess of flesh, bonefragments and loose scales. Fist stood next to it like a hunter surveying his trophy, his arms folded across its chest. The arms that had slain a beast armies couldn't.


"Just what are you?" I thought out loud. Then the detachment of Whiterun arrived and there was no chance for me to unravel that mystery.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~



OOC: Ok, I think I might have weakened the dragon a bit too much for this part. I mean, it was doing fine up till the point Spar starts to play it like a fiddle. Then the shirtless guy walks in and welp. That's all folks.


The dragon language that featured prominently in this update was gathered by browsing through the UESP's dictionary. This means that I hold no promise towards its accuracy, even moreso since I butchered the grammar to hell and back. Fist's Shout at the end doesn't actually exist in the game. I took that from the elderscrolls.wikia by going through the list of in-game Shouts and glueing together what sounded right.




By the way, does anyone want me to make a post with my terrible translation work so you have the Dragon's and Fist's words in plain english?

[McBadgere]

Awesome!!...Just awesome stuff!!...

Apologies for not getting here sooner...Hopefully you're still around occasionally in order to keep this going!...

I loved the flight down the mountain and the crossing to the tower...

And while I appreciate you saying that you might have weakened the Dragon somewhat, bear in mind that whatever "Dovakhiin Level™" Fist is, my level 60-odd Khajiit has killed dragons in less than ten seconds...*Shrug*...It can be done...It is the first dragon they encounter, and as you say, it's been hibernating...

As for the translation...Maybe...

I'd like to know what they're saying, at least...

The Assassin's Creed books sometimes have the Italian (or Turkish in this one I'm doing at the mo.) word and then the translation straight afterwards like,

"Bene!" said Ezio. - Good! And then he went off and stabbed some more Templars.

Dunno...I'd like to know what it was without having to go to the wiki to research it... ...

Although, absolute stunning work Jackie-Boy!...Absolutely love it!!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

PS...Also, more!!!...

[jack cloudy]

Right now I'm busy getting caught up with all the reading I missed during my absence but I did promise a translation so here is the quick and dirty. To be honest I think I went way overboard here. Some words of Dragonish would have been fine as the final clue that yes, dragons are not just an unusually large animal. But when line after line are in, it just becomes a chore for the reader. Not to mention that I could have gotten away with Spar just narrating that it said something but she didn't know what, because she's as clueless as the reader is. Anyhow, let's just get started.

PS: as for Fist. I'm obviously not following the game progression of zero to hero with anyone. Spar is pretty insane for one given the chance and Fist is far far above the powerlevel a player is expected to have during the first dragon encounter. (Incidentally, the game helps out by giving you half a dozen archers to help out, and an immortal battlemage kinda woman. So it is very much possible to kill said dragon by hiding in the (indestructible) tower and twiddling your thumbs.

Alright, translation time. For reals this time.

Also, just because I have to mention it. Dragons seem to suffer from a bad case of capitalizing every single word. Maybe it is because they're always so loud. Also, there is no way to distinguish between the various forms of possesive. So my/your/his/her etc all get the same extension. Fortunately as the writer I know the context so I get to cheat.
"Tafiir Nikrin." The first words are said when Spar's (lousy) disguise fails.
(Tafiir - Thief) (Nikrin - Coward)


"Roti Nimuz. Rah Niwahlaan! Daedroth! Taazokaan Nisuleyksejuni!" Ok, this is a mouthful. It's the reply to Spar yabbering at it in Daedric. Also probably the last bit of Dragon that would have been necessary
(Roti - *your* words) (Nimuz - not men) (Rah - gods) (Niwahlaan - not to create) (Daedroth - Daedroth, it's not a dragon word but eh, whatever. It was what I'd built the rest of that outburst around.) (Taazokaan - Tamriel) (Nisuleyskejuni - not your dominion)

Since this was a pretty long thing, let's put the translation all together again to save you the trouble.

"Your words not men. Gods not to create! Daedroth! Tamriel not your dominion!"


We skip a few paragraphs for the next bit (huh, maybe I didn't write down as much incomprehensible nonsense as I thought I did). Anyhow, Nords throw rock and say manly words. Dragon is understandably pissed.
"Dukaanu. Ahraani."
(Dukaanu - your *plural* dishonor) (Ahraani - my wound)

"YYYOOOOLLLL!!!" dragon spits fire
(Yol - fire) Sometimes words and action are quite a literal thing with dragons


Spar stabs dragon and we get the following:
"Mal Sahlo Mun. Werid Nosi. Vikkil."

(Mal - little) (Sahlo - weak) (Mun - man) (Werid - praise) (Nosi - your strike) (Vikkil - your defeat)
Put together again: "Little weak man. Praise your strike. Your defeat."
I also just saw that Sahlo while listed in the UESP dictionary as a single word, can also be the words Sah and Lo, in which case it would be (Sah - phantom) and (Lo - deceive) Interesting and surprisingly applicable.

No more from the dragon, but a wild, shirtless, sweaty total machoman arrives and spouts some more.
"ROH-DAAAH!"
(Roh - balance) (Dah - push) We assume that Spar actually missed the (Fus - force)
"fus-ROH-DAAAH!" - "force-BALANCE-PUSH" And things go flying.

Not content with just hammering a big firespitting killing machine against the ground, he follows up with some good old-fashioned trashtalk.
"Dov!" He says, "Rotmulaagi Zol Mul."
(Dov - dragon) (Rotmulaagi - my word of power) (Zol - most *also could be zombie* )
(Mul - strong/strength)
"Dragon! My word of power most strong."

And finally we have a Thu'um that does not exist in the game but which I made myself by putting together a trio of words. I personally think it is quite fitting for (not so) Silent Fist.
"Haal Krii Slen!"
(Haal - Hand) (Krii - kill) (Slen - flesh) I thought of doing Haal Krii Dov(ah) first, but I don't like how specific that would be. So yeah, another example of very literally interpreted dragon-speech.


Wew, that was a mouthful. Hope it's been of some use to everyone.

(Note to self: Be careful with copypasting this. You wrote it right above the characterlist spoilerversion)




Ah, before I forget. Have a belated merry christmas and an early happy new year.

[jack cloudy]

And here is the final part of this chapter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~

Chapter 1.16


They came storming down the path, several dozens of men and women in rattling chain, spilling over into the grass on each side. Groupleaders barked encouragements or insults, whatever got their men moving. I got out of the way before I'd be swept along in the Nords' charge and trampled underfoot. I'd seen a lot of charges during the Great War, most of them under better lighting, but this one I firmly placed on the less disciplined end. This was no wave of soldiers in a tight unbreakable formation, it was a series of leaps, skips and stops. It was the charge of conscripts, torn from their daily life and put on the battlefield without training or preparation. People who didn't trust their fellow man, who let fear of death control their actions. The fact that they could barely see the man in front of them didn't help matters.

"You call yourself Nords?" A coarse voice shouted over all the others. "Look at yourself, shaking in your boots! Afraid of old wives' tales and shadows! I've seen Mudcrabs braver than you! Do I have to bring you your mother's blanket?"
A glittering swarm of green fireflies passed me by. An enchanted suit of armour, nothing else could make glow like that without lighting the environment. And only one person fit gear like that, and that voice. Irileth the Dunmer.


Under her guidance the warriors approached the dragon and began to hack at it. I wondered what Fist was thinking of that, though I couldn't see him in the crowd. Was he amused at the Nords trying to kill something that was already dead, or angry someone would 'claim' his kill once they found out their foe wasn't fighting back? It wasn't my problem, I suppose. All I cared for was getting the cube to Farengar without the Altmer getting close to it. One was by my feet, the other was stomping my way.


"You were told to find us information on that thing, not kill it." The elf began the moment our eyes made contact. I made an exaggerated shrug with shoulders and hands while simultaneously kicking the cube behind my heels, then stood my ground against the witch.
"I learned they die." I said back. The woman got right into my face. I would have stepped back if it wasn't for the cube.
"We already knew that!" She yelled, "The Jarl had one's head mounted above his throne!"


I had to get this spy distracted somehow so I could smuggle Farengar's treasure away from under her nose. The Nords were still swinging their axes at the dragon. They were no longer so afraid of it, but judging by the sounds they weren't making much progress either. Their weapons rang as they bounced off the beast's armour and one soldier let out a curse as his axehead broke from the hilt.
"Uh, it's not moving. I think we're fighting a corpse, Housecarl. Or a castle." Another said.
"You think. You're not here to think, soldier. You're here to kill! So take it apart!"


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~


The Altmer and I were still stuck in our standoff. I couldn't think of anything to say to get her off my back and as for her, she seemed to have plenty of words on her lips.
"You're injured." She remarked after a few more scathing verbal attacks regarding the dragon and my 'wannabe heroine streak'. "We need to get you to a healer, yesterday."
Her words were compassionate, but I didn't believe them for a second. Thalmor were not known for their kindness or love for others, not even towards their own. This could be nothing else but a ruse. To get me to drop my guard. Then would come the mindaltering potions, the poisonous words, the lies and an accident to round it off. I'd seen it too many times before. Too many times.


"It's nothing permanent." I snapped back. My heel went back only to nudge the stone cube, freezing me in place. "I don't need a healer and I don't need your help."
She came at me, ghastly glow dancing among her fingers. I couldn't move, couldn't give away the cube's location.
"I'll be the judge of that!" My skin pricked, itched and crawled in ways it shouldn't. "You look like an overdone roast." I had to stop her. Before she did something with her magic. Before she rewrote my mind into perfect obedience to her whims or broke it trying.
"And Divines know how we're going to get those furs off of you." My hands groped behind me for the boneknife. They grasped only the chilly air. The knife was where I'd left it, burrowed within the dragon's flesh. "They've practically melted into your skin. I don't see how you're even standing."


I shoved the elven witch away. It was all I could do without a weapon, or the surprise I needed to wring her neck.
"I'll live. Back off." I shouted. To my surprise, she did.
"Fine, keel over then! You impossible pighead! At least tell me you found the brick you were supposed to get in the first place." And there it was, just as I'd thought, the naked truth. The Thalmor wasn't concerned for my well-being, of course not, but for whether or not I'd gotten the artefact or whatever it was that sat in the box. My mind had been taken off of it by the sudden crisis and now I easily found the answer that had been impossible to find earlier.
"Maybe." I answered and jabbed a thumb at the remains of the watchtower. "Check the rubble."


The moment the Altmer stomped off in anger, I snatched up the cube and hurried to Irileth, the Jarl's bodyguard and apparent first response in case of dragons.
"There are two men in that tower. Possibly dead, almost definitely injured." I told her and the Dunmer ordered her archers to start digging immediately. I didn't like it, their efforts could reveal to the Thalmor that the cube wasn't where I'd said it was. But I owed those two that much. The cube wasn't worth it and I wasn't going to hold on to it for much longer myself. Irileth was looking at me in ways reminiscent of the Altmer's just before.
"You don't look so good yourself. Go to a healer." She said after a moment.
"I remember worse." My legs had held so far. And I wasn't in her chain of command. Changing the subject, I held up the cube. I made sure to shield it with my body from the Thalmor woman in case she would look. She was digging herself, moving vast stones with her mind.
"The Septim dynasty outlawed that spell. Hypocrite." I thought and lowered my voice to give instructions to the Housecarl.


"Take this to the court wizard and show or mention it to no one else." I told her and put it in her hand. The Dunmer looked at the cube for a second, feeling the carvings along its faces.
"I'd sooner take this to the Jarl, whatever it is." She then said. I shook my head.
"It seems to have a supernatural knack for drawing in dragons. I am certain that the Jarl would appreciate Farengar's opinion regarding its potential to be a threat more than your own." It was a simple statement of facts and she took it as such, showing no offense at what lesser people would have considered a denouncement of their talents.


"Did someone just say my name?"


Irileth spun around and, accompanied by a floating wisp of light, the court wizard walked up in his pyjamas. Or another set of robes, it was hard to tell.
"Farengar!" The Dunmer exclaimed. "You were told not to leave the keep! It is too dangerous here! How did you even," Her protests were cut off by a dismissive gesture from the thin Nord.
"Yes, yes. Just tell your butchers to leave that perfect specimen alone. I want to take some samples and run some experiments before it's been reduced to boarfodder." He said. Farengar walked by us. He tried to shove his way through the mass of soldiers while yelling at them to stop their 'mutilation'. I looked at Irileth who weighed the cube in her hands. Then I took it from her and marched over to the stupid court wizard.


I reminded him of my mission but he just ignored me.
"Did I? Are you certain you got the right one? Look at the size of it, simply magnificent!" There were a lot of words I would use to describe a dragon, but magnificent wasn't one of them. Especially not when the dragon in question was a pulverized oozing mass of red flesh. I rammed the box into his hands and turned away from him. I saw the Altmer's eyes on me and knew the ruse was up.
"Considering I bluffed a townsized mass of flaming screw you over it, it had better be." I said loud enough to be heard by everyone.


That was it, mission completed. Farengar had his little box and the killer of Helgen had fallen. The Thalmor was still around, but I would figure out how to remove her later. Now, I should rest.
"I want a healer."






OOC:
Originally I just had Farengar say "Are you certain?" Implying that he didn't even remember the quest. But I had to get in the 'bluffed a goddamn dragon' line so I changed it to questioning the cube.


Also, the end of the chapter means I need to get back to planning. I wrote up a plan for myself before Spar even got to Whiterun, but now I think I won't follow it. For several reasons. The next part as per the plan has been done before. It has been done better than I would and it doesn't develop Spar's story very well. All it gets her is a neat sword. And loot alone isn't enough. The good news is that it is perfectly interchangable so I'll probably plug it in at a later time.

But yeah, need to come up with a new chapter that's more relevant to Spar. I've got an idea already, but need to work out the niggly bits.

This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Jan 22 2014, 09:01 PM

[haute ecole rider]

First the nits:

Just one, really, repeated a few times.

It concerns the use of apostrophes with plurals. You don't need to use that little floaty thing for plain plurals, like this:

Was he amused at the Nord's trying to kill something that was already dead,

You can just eliminate it.

The other situation refers to the location of the apostrophe when setting up a plural possessive:

I got out of the way before I'd be swept along in the Nord's charge and trampled underfoot.

In this case you want to move the apostrophe to the right of the ess, as in this: . . . before I'd be swept along in the Nords' charge . . .

That's out of the way now.

I really enjoyed seeing more of Spar's ironic practicality at work here. The encounter with the Thalmor spy was quite engrossing, as was the discussion with Irileth. I got a kick out of Spar's perception of the Dunmer's enchanted armor earlier.

It was quite the first chapter, and a lot of fun to read. I look forward to more!

[jack cloudy]

Oops, fixed it.


And it's time for part two. But first, a recap!



Spar was given the mission of recovering an artefact for Whiterun's court wizard. To accomplish her task she hired on a Companion by the name of Silent Fist. After some trouble involving spiders, zombies and a lich, Spar found the artefact. Her return to Whiterun was made difficult however by the attack and relentless pursuit of a dragon. Finally out of options, Spar chose to face the dragon on her own and try to stall for time so that Whiterun's army could bail her out. By the time the army arrived, the dragon had already been slain by the Companion Spar had hired.

We pick up the story some time later.


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~~

CHAPTER 2.1: Tale of a Black Demon


Whiterun outskirts


If I thought that one dead dragon meant the end of Whiterun's troubles, I would have been mistaken. If one dragon could fly straight out of myth, so could others, and Whiterun's forces engaged in a crash-course on dragon fighting. But a dragon was unlike any known opponent, so simply teaching the optimal tactics and formations wasn't enough. First the tactics and inventions had to be invented. To that end Jarl Balgruuf formed a council. On it were himself, his brother Hrongar, the chief captain of his guards, Irileth, Farengar, and myself. I didn't relish the attention but I was one of the few who had seen a living dragon up close in detail. One of the few who had seen what did and what didn't hurt a dragon, how it might fight. But most importantly, I was the only one who could put into words what I'd seen.


Even with so much expertise unleashed upon the same problem, it wasn't easy. The Jarl had little time for anything after running his city, and Farengar seemed more interested in researching the corpse we had than finding ways to make more. There was also a clashing of egos. While Irileth and I were of the opinion that magic would be crucial in any battle with dragons, Hrongar was adamantly opposed to the idea. After we'd argued for half the day on just that one point, Caius the captain pointed out that it didn't matter anyway. The only combat-capable mages in Whiterun were Farengar and the Thalmor. Not the kind of thing one could build an army around and training more would be impossible for various reasons. And we couldn't exactly put all our hopes on one man. What if Fist got a cold or something?


I couldn't say I was happy with what we did come up with after a few weeks of breaking our heads. The methods we devised and rolled into our training program were less of a way of killing dragons than it was to keep up a constant stream of near useless arrows while minimizing casualties. I wasn't eager to test our theories. Fortunately we received no confirmed sightings of flying lizards, though there were plenty of rumours. And not just of dragons. Bandits, savage lizardmen, an Orcish warlord, giant wolves and even vampires, everything one could imagine was out there if you asked the refugees. It told me how fearful the rebellion must be for the small villages and farms. Neighbour pitted against neighbour, never knowing if a raiding group was coming down to burn your home and field. In a way it was worse than the Great War. At least back then we knew our enemies and allies.


It was all too mindnumbing. I took every chance I got for self-improvement, just to get away from all the futility. I worked out with the troops, studied my spelltomes and even convinced Silent Fist to try his hand at teaching me the magic yells. On top of that I occasionally joined patrols outside the city walls. It was one of these that brought me where I was now, high up on the forested mountainside to the east. On my belly in the snow, pressing a fist into my guts to keep it from growling, the other holding up my scarf to catch the clouds spilling from my mouth.


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~~

Between me and Whiterun was a camp consisting of three tents, some crates and two campfires. One of the fires was in use right now to make a meal of the day's catch. Six men and women sat on fallen logs and smacked their lips appreciatively.


Bright-haired Nords who wore their affiliation on their swordarms in the form of blue scarves. They treated the coarse fabric with more care than even their weapons, making efforts to keep them clean and stroking them often as they spoke among each other. It was a Stormcloak camp I was looking at. General Stormcloak had set up several of these along the mountains and forests to the east of Whiterun. While the camps were too small to pose a threat to the city, this was still an act of war. Hrongar, Irileth and even Proventius had all urged their Jarl to remove these camps, whether by force of arms or diplomacy. But Jarl Balgruuf did not retaliate.


It puzzled me. Imperial doctrine was to engage any known threat pre-emptively, before it could grow sufficiently to cause large-scale damage. A doctrine that had stunningly failed in the leadup to the Great War. General Stormcloak's camps were such a threat. At the moment all they could do was interdict the trade route between Whiterun and General Stormcloak's own city of Windhelm or raid outlying farms. Fortunately they hadn't done the latter in respect of Whiterun's neutrality, yet. But we all knew it was only a matter of time. And yet the Jarl did nothing.


I couldn't understand the General either. He wasn't a man of open conflict, of regiments marching in unison, of the codes of formal warfare and conduct as laid down by Uriel Septim I. The Thalmor torturers made sure to excise that. The General I knew was someone who believed in striking at the heart of the enemy at the expense of all else. None of this nibbling at the edges of a vague front that now cut Skyrim in half. He would set up camp for no longer than a single day, and move during the night. These people had been around long enough to set up and harvest hunting traps, and to talk loudly about when their next resupply would be or when the main army was going to move. In fact, they expected to stay here throughout the winter which even for Nords couldn't be comfortable. It was as if someone else was running this war.


I had to wait quietly till the dark of night before performing my own extraction. Just three days before we received some heavy snowfall. I'd thought it was a sure sign that winter had come, but the weather turned around again and the snow was now a wet grey sludge. It made sneaking much harder. Not only was it difficult not to leave signs of my passing, but the squelching sounds each time I moved were hard to suppress, no matter how slow I went. And that was when I could see where I was going. My current position wasn't perfect either. One of the Nords had but to turn and climb a little up the mountain to spot me. That said, they had so far shown no interest in what happened in the direction that didn't let them spy on Whiterun.


They left only one soldier to keep watch while everyone else went to bed. That was rather negligent but suited me fine. I circled back around and carefully made my way down to the road. It was a clean night, with Masser and Secunda looming above amidst the stars. Not a sound to be heard except that of my own feet. No, not just my feet. Something splashed through the snow outside my own rythm.
"Did I get spotted leaving the camp?" The Nords wouldn't strike on a single traveller in the middle of the night and I carried no fire. At this distance I should be invisible to them.


"Ecwuse us, fwend." A voice called out from behind me. They weren't the Stormcloaks from the camp. I would have recognized any of them after spying on them for so long. None of them stumbled over their own teeth. I quickly scanned the area before me and seeing no threats on that side, turned around. Two people stood behind me, barefooted and wearing just a few rags.
"We aw fwarmers fwom Ivawstead. Could you pewhaps heljp us with zomefing?" Skin iced over, dry eyes and most importantly, their breath left no trace in the air. All the marks of a walking corpse, but lacking the fire of the Draugr and they looked too fresh for one. Nevertheless, I'd seen their kind before. My hands went behind my back for the knife as I watched them.
"Vampires. So that story was true after all."




OOC: I shamelessly stole the teeth problem from Elisabeth. Trying it out myself to get an idea of what it would sound like was rather awkward though.

[Darkness Eternal]

So after Spar spoke to that snobby fellow back in Whiterun(gods, I hate that court mage). I do like your battle scenes, as they are well-written and a joy to read.

This chapter was a fun read, as well.

We received no confirmed sightings of flying lizards, though there were plenty of rumours. And not just of dragons. Bandits, savage lizardmen, an Orcish warlord, giant wolves and even vampires.

Welcome to Tamriel, eh? Seems to be daily problems of many people throughout the provinces. I did like the fact that the Thalmor had some involvement in the change of Imperial military tactic. Huh. Those elves got their dirty little golden fingers everywhere.

And our dear friend is goes on a stroll at night( a bad idea, especially in a place like Skyrim) to be met with a few odd individuals. Never ceases to amaze me how . . . unsettling some of these nosferatu can look. They shouldn't even be talking to people with their disfigured faces, unless of course they're directly from the Cyrodiil clan.

Better hope that knife is made out of silver . . .

I do recall the teeth goof of Elizabeth's No Elves in Sovngarde. Hilarious. You'd think after a few centuries these creatures would develop a bit of a speech improvement.

Good read!

[haute ecole rider]

I enjoyed the brief summary of the next few weeks. It was a great way to wrap up what could essentially be a very boring interlude for the readers. And then we dive right back into the present with Spar as she spies on the camp.

I loved the "tripping over one's teeth" line, especially as it was followed up by the unique dialogue of the vampires. I'm sorry I missed the original reference, so this was new to me. Even though I know where it came from, I still laughed at it.

I look forward to more!

[Darkness Eternal]

Need. More. Updating.

Get to it

[jack cloudy]

The teeth-part was for a reason beyond just aping Elizabeth. Ok, same reason as she did but still valid enough.

And err, apologies for my latest absense. Anyhow, on with the show.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Chapter 2.2


There was only one kind of 'help' a vampire could want and I wasn't willing to give it. Not that I'd ever heard of a vampire who was stopped by being told 'no'. Still, I tried.
"Go away, blood drinker."
No other options came to mind. Fighting a vampire, especially two of them, would be suicide. I remembered a few raids into a vampire's lair, but those always had the odds stacked in our favour. Entering when the vampire was least dangerous, preferably slumbering, bringing special equipment and making sure the fanged vermin was outnumbered four to one at least. I any case, my words seemed to have surprised these two, going by the flailing of their arms and half-hearted refutations. Evidently they'd thought their deception to be better than it actually was. That, or they had no idea what effects weather like this had on the cold body of a vampire.


"Now now. We weem yu no hawm. Jut a sip." One replied, surrendering the charade. Just a sip? Who was it kidding? A vampire was never stuffed after 'just a sip'. The other began arguing with it.
"Do we haw to do wis? Can we nob dwink vwom a cup? Like people?"
"I diwn bwing won. Diwd you?"


It gave me more time to think and to carefully loosen the knife in its sheath. Drawing now would be almost instantaneous, but still too slow, the distance to them still too great. And just why had I seen through their deception in the first place? Vampires made a habit of studying the arts of illusion and seemed to have a strange affinity for it. Instead of looking at these undercooled corpses pretend to be alive, I should have taken them at their word and seen whatever they wanted me to see. Or was this what I was supposed to see? Why weren't they carrying any weapons? They might not need them, but most vampires did anyway because there was no reason not to.
"Vampires who reveal themselves don't tend to live long. Especially those without even as much as a kitchen knife. This stinks."


Then there was this bickering. Why? If it was some trick to make me misjudge them, it wasn't working. Vampires weren't supposed to stop and debate what was the most civilized way to murder people and suck them dry like an oversized mosquieto. Did no one brief them on their vampirehood? Now there was a possibility. Perhaps it wasn't a trick at all.
"If their infection was accidental, they could be clueless."


Vampires were born through two methods. First was when one vampire deliberately infected a mortal, watched over the corrupting process and properly educated its kin. The new vampire would usually end up subservient to its 'parent', often delivering prey and the like. The other came when a victim of a vampire attack didn't die. If a healer was on the scene in time and didn't recognize the symptoms, the victim could be stabilized with the infection left untouched. Then within the next few days the diseased would enter a coma indistinguishable from death. A few more and the new vampire would awaken, often within a fresh grave and always craving blood.


It would explain a lot. But not their ability to reason. They were obviously well-fed, yet behaved as if this was their first time. Still, even that I could explain. A hungry vampire was like a rabid animal, completely incapable of reason and possessing only the impulse to leap and bite. That included the ability to memorize. We'd confronted but failed to kill one such feral once. The next time we faced it, it had held no recognition of our earlier meeting or any fight at all.


For all I knew these two really had been farmers from Ivamsstead or wherever. Not that it mattered. I tried one more time to convince the vampires to leave me alone before I would resign myself to having to fight them off somehow.
"What if I leave? No harm."
"Sowwy, we haw to dwink. Cawn't be piwkey."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~


"So be it." I thought. I would take away their guard, make them trip, then Them could rush the monsters. I braced myself and filled my lungs to the limit.
"Fus!"
Ribs crushed my lungs.
A spasm of the throat.
A gust of hot air burst from my lips.


And nothing else.


"Wha? Dew iz no need do zwere." The vampires complained. "We down do diz fow fun. We haw to."
"If only I could become Fist. It would make things so much easier." I thought and chewed on my lower lip in frustration. In truth I had known that the pressure of the danger I was in would not magically endow me with the skill needed to make it work. But it just wasn't fair. It wasn't fair for the Breton to be able to do it without practice or without even knowing how or why. I hated that.
"And I'm Kettle. Next plan then."


"Go away, or I kill you." Two of them, and only one knife. I'd have to use magic to bolster my offense. The problem with that was that I had no mages among Them so I'd have to do this myself. At least until I'd launched my spell. One was all I'd be able to cast. I began the handmotions to draw out and shape the magicka-pattern.
"I should have studied the destruction tome first."
"Hoy hoy. We aw wampiwes." The one who was nearest said. "We can't be kiwled. Bows swed zo. We aw de bewst fiwtews in Skidjim."
Vampires are better than their mortal host in every way, that much was true. Stronger, faster, tireless, every sense sharpened to a fine edge. But being physically able was one thing. Vampires were not magically imbued with all the knowledge and instincts needed to fight. I was having the feeling these two hadn't been informed of that little detail. Or they were very good at faking it.
"In which case I am very dead."


My fingers began to prick and tingle and I held the spell. I kept giving up enough magicka to sustain it, but not the spark that would turn it into light. Them was ready. Yet I needed to better the odds first before launching my attack.
"Ok. Come here. You can drink." I said and lifted my chin. The vampires grinned and one came closer. Ideally I would have drawn in both but I'd take whatever I could get.
"Yes. Daws bewter. Thiw won huwt, I pwomiz." It said, placed its hands on my shoulders and leaned close. The veins flanking my throat felt like they were about to burst and I swallowed. Was that vampire magic or just me becoming hyper-focussed on that spot because I knew what it was about to do? Letting a vampire get within biting range ran counter to every rule of vampire-combat. It was suicidal. It also got it within stabbing range.


Its teeth touched, like two big thumbs pushing against the skin. That was the moment.



My hands flew out. Left first, a flick of the wrist around the waist, the spark that birthed the sun and gave it flight. Pass the baton.
Right follows, bringing the knife. I enter low then sweep it up as the blade splits everything in its path. Groin, belly, sternum. Shove with left, the first target falls. Move in on the second.


It says something, flailing its hands. My tongue spits a retort.
"Because you let me." It is Spar, clamp down on it, shut it out. The vampire shuffles back, too slow to escape. Sprint in close, lead with the knife. It is slapped away, spinning me to the right. Left hand rises with the momentum, fist aimed at throat. It parries, diverting my strike upwards. I continue my turn, pivot on one foot as the other thrusts out into a straight kick. The vampire escapes my last attack by simply outrunning it. It flees bouncing high up in the air like an oversized toad and covering an arrow's flight with each step.


I blinked away the spots as the second farmer vanishes in the darkness. What had happened to my spell? Did I miss, or did I miscast?
"If all I managed to do was half-blind myself, It was worse than useless." I thought angrily. Then something grabbed my ankle and swept me off my feet. I landed hard and twisted to try and see what had done it. It was the first vampire, gnawing on my boot in a mad frenzy! I could feel the teeth, their sharpness, drilling through the folded furs and leather!
"Let go! Die!" I yelled and stabbed blindly at the monster with my knife. Again and again, not caring where I hit, just that I did.
"Die!"




Simple fatigue was what stopped me. The bony weapon slid out of my cramped fingers and I resorted to beating its skull with my fists before that too, was too much. I fell flat on my back and drew in gasping lungfulls. The pressure on my ankle was still there, the teeth that tried to bite me, to kill or taint.
"Killed by a... Is this it...that doesn't even know itself...thrice-cursed vampire..." The thought came in fragments, repeating out of order. But the teeth weren't moving and eventually the panicky animal I'd become noticed. That gave room for more productive thoughts.


I lifted my boot and heard the Vampire's skull plop back down in the wet snow.
"Ok, I'm alive. Where did the second one run off to?" I looked around but didn't see anyone. That put a broad limit on the amount of time I'd wasted just lying around. There was no way the Stormcloak's guard could have missed the light from my spell unless he'd fallen asleep. And there was no way anyone else could have missed it either.
"The Orc said there was an army of the bloodsuckers roaming the province. What if these two were just the vanguard, an unarmed scouting party? They did mention a boss."
General Stormcloak's Nords or vampires out for revenge and blood, not necessarily in that order. I wasn't eager to have an encounter with either. With that in mind I forced myself back onto my knees and then my feet. My still shaking feet.


"Time to leave." The impulse echoed and my hand came up on its own to feel my neck. It was wet, but no odd pain or gaping holes. Just the snow then. I felt relieved to know that.
"Time to leave." I, Them, thought again and pushed me forward along the path. It was the best decision, the safest. For me, but not for Whiterun. The Jarl had to be informed and to do that, I would need proof. I also wasn't going to leave without the knife that had saved my life and which I had to admit, was growing attached to. So I fought down the chorus and knelt down next to the corpse. A quick look for anything of interest, that was all. Then I'd run, or march, or stumble, as fast as I could.


My repeated stabbing hadn't left much whole of its skull and neck. The knife had gone all the way through each time or whittled away big slices on a glancing blow. And going by the position of its arms and legs, how it hadn't used them against me, my earlier surprise attack must have damaged the spine. The flesh was oozy, only somewhat decomposed. Zombie-like, not draugr or dust.
"This vampire was new, just a few days at most."
I turned the body over and ran a finger through the canyon I'd carved through its torso I could definitely feel the spine, even the crack in the vertebrae. It was all very interesting, but not anything I could use as proof unless I miraculously received the strength to carry the vampire away on my back.


"Fifteen...sixteen...come on, just something I can grab....nineteen...maybe I should cut out its jaw....twenty-one." I counted the seconds as I raised my knife. At thirty, I told myself, I would leave. Not a second later.
"Twenty-three....twenty-four...what's that?" Something was lying in the snow, glinting in the moonlight. It was right where the vampire had been before I'd turned it over. I quickly snatched it up, two metal parts judging by the feel. They were curved pieces, with blunt spikes sticking out.
"Was it wearing this around its neck? Hmm, I think the other had something like it. The one that got away. Thirty-two." I was out of time and this had to do.


I got to my feet and half-ran, half-walked down the road to Whiterun. Knife in my hand and scanning the darkness around me all the way. The gateguards saw me stumble up the path and came down to meet me. I was grateful for their strength as I collapsed in their arms.
"Ho there, Whisperer. Are you alright?"
"Caius, now." I answered. They quickly ferried me through the gatedoor and into the barracks just beyond. Inside it was as it always was in the depth of the night. Soldiers wearing their uniforms to varying degrees, from full armour safe for the helmet down to their underwear. They gambled, drank and talked with loud voices, punctuated by laughter and shouts at a joke or a remarkable roll of the dice. But that all ceased the moment I was carried in. It always did, though I didn't know why.


The gateguards brought me up to the captain's office, saluted the man and then left. The captain was a heavily balding Imperial, with a prominent scar beneath his left eye and a tattoo on his arm that signified participation in the battle at Red Ring. He appraised me for a moment in silence, then drew out a seat on which I happily crashed.
"Did you slaughter the whole camp by yourself?" He said in a cold tone, "And then decide to bathe in their guts?"


I dug the bits of metal out of my vest-pocket and threw them down on the table.
"Forget the Stormcloaks, we've got another problem." I said, pointing at the two pieces. I now had the time to look at them properly myself.
"The Orc was right. Vampires." They were clearly two halves of the same thing. A ring, with spokes. I would have called it a ship's wheel, if the spokes didn't flare out into arrowpoints.


Caius' attitude instantly changed from thinly veiled displeasure to open concern.
"Shor's, is there even a drop left in you?" He asked me. I fingered my neck and the gaps bored in my boot. I then observed that my furs were all crimson. It made me laugh. No wonder the captain thought I'd gone berserk on the Stormcloaks.
"I'm fine. Don't worry about it." I answered him. The captain frowned and walked over to a large cabinet. He opened it and took out a bottle and a large cup.
"That's what you always say. Drink." He commanded, looked at the bottle and then set it down on the table before me. The cup went back in the cabinet. "Make it the whole bottle."


The greasy liquid was disgusting, it made me gag. Still, I wasn't going to disobey an order while sitting right in front of him. I forced myself to keep drinking. Quick sloshes down my throat, trying to taste as little of it as possible.
"Something was odd about them, though." I said during one long pause inbetween the gulps.
"I mean, I'm here talking about it. That's not right."


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OOC: I should probably stop stacking the deck so much in her favour all the time. But at the same time, I couldn't afford to have Spar get injured at this point. There was no support for her out there and unlike the excursion to the barrow, she had not been given the chance to load up for war. (Probably should have mentioned that)

I also should have properly worked out Them before I'd started writing. The idea is still the same in general, but the way it works is already shifting.

[haute ecole rider]

The vampires' dialogue had me rolling! I kept thinking of the Keystone Kops rolled up with Abbot and Costello and Laurel and Hardy in one!

And I share that niggling feeling that something is not quite right with those oh-so-polite bloodsuckers . . .