Blackmoth Options

[Kell-Reevor]

Greetings everyone, I just joined this forum.
I have a story I have been planning for a long time (since I beat Morrowind). I hope you like if and by all means add it to the library mod if you feel it is worthy, thanks.

BTW, this was orignally a story I was working on for Adriens Chalice (sp?) It has undergone heavy changes since then.

***********************************************************


Soon after the Imperials conquered Morrowind, they built many forts to aid in keeping peace. Of these forts was a secretly kept ebony warehouse known as Blackmoth. This location was only too perfect for a short lived project involving the old Dwemer ruins it was built over. This project involved reverse engineering Dwemer technology and combining it with the endless power of magicka.

Three officers of the Imperial Legion were in charge, all of them were masters of a school of magicka. The first was a Cyrodiil, mastering the school of Alteration. The second was a Nord, secretly a master of Necromancy. The third was an Altmer, mastering Destruction.

Not much is known about the fate of Blackmoth. Upon realizing their report was over a week late, legionnaires were sent to investigate. Their fate is as well unknown, as they never returned. Time passed, and Blackmoth faded from the minds of the Legion.



Kell-Reevor lifted his seemingly heavy head to gaze upon the stone walls of Balmora. His trip from Seyda Neen was slow and tedious, as it had rained non stop. Even now, rain continued to pelt him. He opened his belt pouch… empty.

“It seems as if I’m destined to fail,” he moaned. Night had fallen, and he was without money and food, he could neither continue forward nor turn back. Dragging his first foot forward, then the other, he slowly drudged his way into town. The buildings here were of the same yellowish stone design as the wall that surrounded Balmora. A deep canal split the small town into halves. Rain water was pouring in, making the water rush into the nearby river. Across the canal was his destination, The Corner Club.

Approaching the canal, he could faintly hear a commotion over the rain smacking the stone ground and rooftops. It was coming from a building just to his left. Curious, he turned to the door and approached it. The rain pouring from the roof over the doorway only soaked him faster, but he paid no attention to it. Within the small structure he could hear a woman’s sobbing, as well as deep voices and laughter.

It was the shriek that did it. He swung the door open and beheld a terrible sight. The room was dark, humid, and stunk of alcohol. In the corner to the far right was a human woman, sobbing and doubled over. Strewn about the room were three Dunmer, their red eyes glazed from booze. This had to be the Council Club he had been warned about.

Kell was indeed an intimidating sight. Standing tall and bearing a black breastplate with a golden tree imprinted on the front. His sleeves and pants were black with gold trim, and from the base of his breastplate were long, wide strips of fabric, somewhat resembling a long skirt, of the same color. Over his shoulders was a black cape, fastened by a golden brooch. At his waist was a long, straight blade of red and black material. It was very clear he was from a wealthy family.

The dunmer men were clearly offended that a race they considered nothing more than slave labor would be dressed in such an exquisite garb.

“Mind yer own business ya filthy lizard,” one of the men slurred.

The average argonian would simply ignore such a remark, as they were well known as a patient people. Kell, however, had suffered a long and hard trip from his home in Cyrodiil. That paired with every stupid dirt farmer he crossed telling him to ‘spit it out or hit the road’ was too much for him. His tail became still, and he reached for the sword tucked under his belt.

He hesitated; he wouldn’t dare dishonor the good people who raised him by striking down a foe that was too drunk to know what he was doing. He could almost feel sympathetic for their situation. He would hate to see his homeland overrun with outsiders telling him how to live.

The woman looked up at him, teary eyed and dressed in simple brown robes. Her sandy brown hair was disheveled and matted. Her pleading look begged him to help her.

Without a moment’s notice, the nearest man lunged for the argonian. By reflex, he stepped to the side. As the dunmer stumbled by, Kell aided him forward by elbowing him in the back of his neck. With a thud, the drunk struck the wall. The second and third made their move, one drawing a silver dagger and the other an iron axe. Kell curled his clawed fingertips inward, making an elongated fist. With a left hook, he dropped the approaching man swinging his dagger, who now struggled to get back on his feet. The final man charged and swung his weapon directly for Kell’s snout. A clang echoed through the small room as Kell caught the blade in his right hand. Blood tricked down his wrist, and then speckled the walls as he jerked his arm aside and shoulder charged the attacker, sending the man down a staircase into the tavern below.

“What in Oblivion is going on up there?!” came a voice from downstairs.

It was time to leave. Now that the people downstairs knew the boys upstairs were no longer having their good time they would certainly want to investigate. Kell was no master of combat and would easily be overcome.

Spinning to the woman, he barely avoided a jab from the silver dagger. The second man was back up and taunting him.

“Im gonna shiv your boat!” he spat out, making another jab for Kell.

He was out of time; the others had already reached him. He hauled the woman into his arms and bolted for the door. He took a slash into his right arm, drawing more blood. Crashing through the ajar door, he threw off his cape and wrapped it around the woman. The poor woman was no longer sobbing, but struggling to match Kell’s speed as he jerked her along across the bridge spanning the babbling canal. It was dark and hard to see past the foggy rain, but running was better than sitting still to get your bearings in this type of predicament.

“Wait!” The woman tugged his arm. “My home is just up ahead, to the right!”

Upon reaching the small stone house, the woman quickly shoved the door open and they both darted inside. Kell quickly checked the tiny green window by the door, from what he could barely make out they weren’t followed. He turned his back to the window and slumped to the floor, curling his large tail around him.

The small place was warm, dry, and well lit. It seemed like a nice place to hide out for a bit, but he had no intention of overstaying his welcome in a stranger’s home. He looked to the human, who was studying a bloody patch on her robes.

“You’re bleeding.” Her concern quickly changed to confusion. “How did you catch an axe in your bare hand? It should have cleaved you past your wrist.”

He simply stared at her. She had some way of thanking someone for possibly saving her life. About to let out a sarcastic ‘YOUR WELCOME’ he stopped himself.

“I’ll admit that wasn’t the smartest thing I have ever done, but I have never fought more than two people at once, I simply panicked.”

That didn’t answer her question in the slightest, but instead of pressing the issue, she chose to see if she could help. She approached and sat down next to him.

“Open your hand and let me see.”

“Its fine, I’ll handle it,” now he was in trouble, how could he show a complete stranger?

She grabbed his arm. “Come on, it might be serious and I need to try to stop any bleeding.”

“Let go.” It was a simple statement, but his tone was cold and threatening.

She jerked up his sleeve…and stared in shock at the sight. The skin on his arm had been burned off and cut away in some places, revealing a black metal frame beneath. It appeared to be pure ebony. Just above a major burn, the cut he received from the dagger was trickling down to his elbow. He smacked her hand away and jerked his sleeve back over his arm.

He had risen to the door and prepared to open it.

“Good bye.” He swung the door open to find the rain had become much worse. Letting out a whispered curse, he stepped out.

“Wait!” the woman called. Kell turned his head to hear her out. “You don’t like the rain do you?”

He looked away for a moment, then turned back to face her. “No.”

She seemed a touch confused. “But, you’re an argonian, doesn’t it rain often in The Black Marsh?”

“What’s your name?” He nearly interrupted her.

She blinked, puzzled. “Amara”

“Well, Amara, to be frank, I have never been to The Black Marsh. I was born and raised among the humans in Cyrodiil.”

Amara stepped back into the house and out of the doorway. “Why don’t you come back in then? It’s pouring outside, and it’s the least I can do after you saved my life.”

He weighed his options. Either act out the role of a paying customer in The Corner Club until the rain stopped, or take shelter in a warm, cozy house. It didn’t seem right after she noticed his ebony arm, but chances were the folks at The Corner Club wouldn’t appreciate his company if they found out he had no money.

He would spend the night sitting in a corner facing the door, ready in case the Commona Tong found him. Amara had already retired to the room up stairs. Kell opened his palm and surveyed the damage. The bleeding had stopped, after all there was little left to bleed. The gash was long and wide, he would have to be careful not to let anyone else see it as the skin would never heal over.

Leaning his head back in thought, he recalled the last moments he saw of his family. The people that served his father were all very close to him, as they were all he had when his father was off fighting battles for The Imperial Legion, they were as much his family as his father and his long-deceased mother. Taking another long look at his arm, he could only wonder why he was like this.

[Kell-Reevor]

oops, looks like paragraph indents didnt show, ill try to be a bit more careful in the future.

[MerGirl]

Very good start. :goodjob: I really liked the emotions in the story, and the characters act realistically. So, I hope you will update/continue it soon!

[treydog]

A good back-story, plus some intrigue with this Argonian who is more than he appears to be... Good fight scene and a deft hand with letting us inside the character's head.

[jonajosa]

Some spelling issues and your missing some words in your first few sentences but overall its good.

:goodjob:

[Kell-Reevor]

[quote=Kell-Reevor]“Im gonna shiv your boat!” he spat out, making another jab for Kell. [/quote]

I'll remember to watch the language from now on .

Thanks for your feedback and im glad you all enjoyed it, I'll have the next part up asap.

[Kell-Reevor]

(The following part of the story contains information about Kell's father. A big discussion took place on the official forums regarding the possibilities of cross-breeding. Rather than start up a debate or arguement, I ask that the readers use their imagination. For the sake of this story, the person mentioned as his father is indeed his biological father.)

enjoy!




The ship groaned as the wind picked up. The dark clouds blanketing the sky foreshadowed the approaching storm. The small ship was sailing through shallow water; the high winds could easily wreck it on the rocky formations that dotted the waters about it. Kell gazed ahead into the almost surreal curtain of fog. A tap on his shoulder startled him.

“Your father wants us to sit out the storm on the closest island large enough to accommodate us,” said the soldier behind him.

“Where is he now?”

The solder pointed to the stern of the ship. There, two men seemed to be discussing their options. One was dressed in light, common clothing faded from years at sea. The other was a tall man dressed in the red and gold ceremonial armor only the highest ranking soldiers of The Legion donned. His black hair was combed back. His face, the face of a stern but caring man, was neatly shaved. This man was Marcus Ventrius, Kell’s father.

Upon seeing his son approaching, he smiled and motioned him over. “Don’t worry; we’ll be in Gnisis soon.” .

Without warning, fire was everywhere, as well as the screams and groans of the dieing. An explosion to his left knocked him off of his feet. The air filled with a terrible shriek, the shriek of a soul detached from its body. He looked up, before him a massive shape. Appearing at first to be a huge man in bulky armor, he wielded a sword with one hand and an axe in the other. It was too hard to see his face, only his eyes… white and dead. It approached, from the light provided by the many fires that refused to yield to the pouring rain, Kell could see that he was not wielding the weapons, but the weapons were actually a part of him.

He tried to run, but he was too terrified. The creature raised his left arm, readying to split Kell with his axe. Kell jumped to dodge it, but he was too slow. The axe fell, making contact just below his right shoulder…



Three loud knocks at the door awoke Kell. Attempting to jump to his feet, he failed miserably and fell on his chin. He had slept sitting up, and now he paid the price. Both of his legs were asleep.

“Ow…”

The knocks persisted. Kell threw his back against the wall and gripped his sword. Amara raced down the stairs, dressed now in a tan short shirt and brown long pants. She peeked out the green window.

“It can’t be…” she whispered.

She yanked the door open and pulled a short man wrapped in a brown cloak inside. He appeared to be a Breton. Amara’s expression put Kell at ease. Removing his hand from his sword he went to the task of bending his legs in an effort to return circulation to them.

A smile spread across Amara’s fair face. The two of them appeared to be near the same age, and they were both very happy to see each other.

‘Must be her lover,’ Kell thought to himself, ‘not that I really care,’ he quickly added.

The two hugged. For a split second, the man’s cloak opened a bit, revealing a glass dagger tucked in his belt. Kell took note of it and began studying the stranger’s movement. A guard at his home had taught him what to watch out for in a potential foe.

“I’m so happy to see you again Bryce,” Amara said as she let him go.

“Yes, your father bade me check up on you,” he grinned, “I know better than to disappoint him.”

Amara chuckled. Bryce looked about the room, and with a confused look noted Kell on the floor still bending his knees.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t know you had company.”

Kell knew better than that. The man was aware of him the second Amara pulled him inside.

Amara’s smile brightened. “This is…” Her smile faded to a look of embarrassment as she realized she had never asked him his name.

“Kell-Reevor,” he finished for her.

Amara looked back to Bryce. “He saved my life last night.”

The smile on Bryce’s face was gone. “Are you ok? What happened?”

She motioned to the next room, where there was a table. “We can talk about that later; we still have a lot of catching up to do.”

While the two were reminiscing in the next room, Kell was considering leaving. The rain had stopped, after all. Deep down, however, he was reluctant to abandon this girl to the hands of the Commona Tong, not likely to forget what happened last night. Then again, Bryce seemed to care deeply for her, and from what Kell could tell he would have little trouble against any thugs that came after them.

He picked himself up and made for the door, bumping his arm on a dresser. The corner hit just below his shoulder and he absent-mindedly rubbed it. Pain began to form there, as well as in his head. He was recalling the dream he had. It was too real, almost like more of a memory than a dream.

The pain was growing fast.

He could feel the dampness of the foggy air; he could smell the salt of the ocean. Then he could feel the heat of the flames, as well as the burning in his eyes from the smoke. Then he remembered it… It’s axe raised and ready.

Searing pain jolted through his body, making him collapse to his knees. He couldn’t breath, and he couldn’t make a sound… the pain was too great. It was especially intense in his shoulder and head.

All he could muster was a squeak as he fell on his side. His right arm trembling; his hand clenching. He realized it was reaching for his sword. He fought it the best he could, the blinding pain growing.

It was something he dealt with before; it came with his attempts to recall the gaps in his memory. All he had to do was clear is head. The pain receded, and he once again had control of his arm.

“Yes I remember, you used to throw rocks at me because you were bigger than me.”

Laughing came from the dining room. The two were completely oblivious to Kell’s suffering.

“I’m sorry about that. By the way do you still work for my father?”

“No, no… I now have a small place of my own, as well as a wife and daughter.”

“Wow! I had no idea so much was going on in my absence.”

Bryce’s tone became serious once again. “Speaking of which, would you please consider coming home? Your parents are both very worried about you, and I myself would like to return to my family as well.” He took note of the room he was in. “I know you must have worked very hard to get a home like this but you have a bigger one and a caring family back on the mainland.”

Amara took her gaze from him. “Well, to tell you the truth this isn’t really my house. A friend is letting me stay here while she is conducting business in Mournhold.” Again she looked to him. “But I can’t leave yet. The Imperial Cult needs me here, and I want to help these people as much as I can.”

Bryce sighed, and lifted himself out of his chair. “Well, if I can’t bring you back them I have to stay and look after you. I can’t imagine what your father would do to me if I left empty-handed.”

“Whatever you decide, it’s too dangerous to stay in Balmora,” Kell said from the doorway.

“But where could we go? Where would I stay?” Amara complained.

“Ald-Ruhn. We can figure out the rest later.” He turned to the door, and then looked back. “Do either of you have the money to pay for the silt strider?”

Amara turned her head to Bryce, who was shaking his head.

“Don’t look at me; I spent it all on the trip here.”

Kell did not want to walk, but he had little choice. It was too dangerous to stick around and make the money they needed in Balmora. He would walk with them to Ald-Ruhn, where Amara would be safe. After that, he could go on his way.

[treydog]

Another excellent addition- you have a gift for describing characters without slowing down the story. Yet more mystery regarding our Argonian friend.

[Fuzzy Knight]

Nice nice... I agree with Trey, your disciption of characters is exellent, keep it up :goodjob:

[Kell-Reevor]

Thank you for the positive feedback, I will continue to post as often as I can.

And Trey, I'm still working on reading the story you posted, but 13 chapters?! :shocked: Hehe, it might be a while before I finish that.

[Kell-Reevor]

As of yet, the trip was uneventful. A few rats and a cliff racer did attack them, but Kell hardly felt it was worth drawing his sword over. A good kick sent any rat scurrying away, while his claws were good enough to deal with the cliff racer.

Kell took the front of the group, while Bryce and Amara tagged behind. The two talked frequently, mostly about the good old days when they were children. Kell on the other hand, was deep in his own little world. Soon they would reach Ald-Ruhn, and he would be alone again.

Then again, he was never really alone. There was always a feeling. Deep down, he felt a presence that was of pure hatred; a presence that begged for revenge.

His right hand clenched into a fist. His claws pushed into his palm and partially opened the axe wound he had received the night before. Thinking about the safety of Bryce and Amara, it would be best that he left them somewhere safe, away from him. He was dangerous, after all.

A deep rumble pulled him from his thoughts. He never even noticed the clouds coming in. It was going to rain…yet again.

‘It was raining that day as well.’

Feeling his fist jerk back open, he shook the thought from his head. He was unsure what day the little voice was referring to, but he didn’t want to attempt to recall it. He had suffered enough lately.

“So… who’s the mother?”

Bryce grinned. “You never met her.”

“Come on… tell me,” Amara pressured.

Resigned, Bryce admitted; the grin never leaving his face, “Rayella, the flower girl.”

Amara gave him a light punch to his shoulder. “I have too met her!” She was certainly no longer a girl, being at least two years older than Bryce. The two giggled, and then stopped abruptly as they realized they were no longer walking. Kell loomed before them. Had they continued they would have walked right into him.

“It’s starting to rain.” The air was heavy with moisture, and a few drops had already landed about them. “We should find some shelter. I don’t want you two getting a fever.” He turned his back to them and continued on. “If I recall correctly, there should be a cavern just up ahead.”

“You’ve been here before?” Amara asked.

Kell stopped, but did not face her. “Yes.” He continued.

“Why not just stay in Caldera?” Bryce questioned, “We can’t be that far.”

Again, Kell stopped. “If we couldn’t afford the silt strider, how can we afford boarding at an inn?” He turned his head slightly to eye Bryce.

It seemed for a moment that the breton would bring up Kell’s golden broach. Kell was relieved to find that he didn’t. Under no circumstances was the argonian going to pawn it, as he treasured it deeply.

Soon after, they reached the cavern; the entrance was blocked by a weathered door. As anyone who had ever visited Morrowind would know, a cavern with a door was inhabited. Most of the time, the caverns were bases for bands of smugglers, sometimes containing magic users. Kell hated magic users, as he lacked the natural casting abilities his kind possessed.

He couldn’t handle the whole cavern by himself. But even more, he didn’t want to leave Amara without Bryce to watch her, as it was clear she didn’t know how to defend herself. He couldn’t simply ask Bryce to go in by himself while he stayed behind to watch Amara, the man had a wife and kid after all. Lowering his head, he made his decision.

“Bryce, stay here and watch over Amara, I’ll go in and make sure its safe.” His face may not have been capable of showing emotion, but from the tone of his voice it was clear he had doubts about his chances of survival. It must have been the knightly spirit he inherited from his father that made him do something that would risk his life just to ensure Amara’s safety.

Bryce didn’t argue, he merely folded his arms over his chest and wished him well. Amara, who just a minute ago was laughing and smiling, was now a mix of anger and concern. How could he put his life on the line just so that she wouldn’t catch a cold? Despite her efforts, she was unable to find the words for what she was feeling. Before she knew it, he was gone and the door was shut behind him.

The interior of the cave was damp and cold, but it would certainly be better than standing out in the rain. The walls were lined with torches, which did a better job of burning Kell’s eyes with pitch than lighting the way. The tunnel seemed to end not far from where he was standing. He could barely make out another worn old door in the darkness ahead.

Easing the door open, he peered inside. It was a large chamber, well lit by a campfire in the center. Some crates were stacked haphazardly along the walls, and three bedrolls were laid out on the rough floor. Just beyond the fire was a wooden ladder leading up to a platform suspended by rotting wooden beams. There didn’t appear to be any bandits.

As he slipped inside, the door slammed shut behind him. He was wrong; there was indeed someone in the room. A bosmer in chitin armor was hiding behind the door and greeted him with a squeaky chuckle. Two others ascended from the platform; a third keeping a position at the top of the ladder. The two were a shirtless nord wielding a massive silver hammer over his shoulder, and a dunmer woman in a mix of chitin and netch leather. The third was apparently the magic user Kell feared; he was an altmer in simple brown robes. Someone dressed like that was either a novice, or a master that felt it was unnecessary to hide behind expensive garments.

The three on the floor level surrounded him, weapons at the ready.

“Seriously, what were you thinking?” the altmer yelled. “How stupid can you be to come in here all alone?”

Kell managed a weak chuckle. “Yeah, I’m really something aren’t I?” He drew his blade, his father’s daedric dai-katana, and held it vertically before him. With his left hand, he grasped the broach pinning his cape. It was his reminder that his father was a champion. It was his reminder that he was fighting for the well being of others. Most of all, it was his reminder of who he was.

“Don’t forget about the two outside.”

With that, all three on the ground level charged Kell. He jumped to the side taking a few cuts from a saber and an iron short sword. The hammer came down, barely missing his head as he jumped backwards. Now was his chance. He charged by the bosmer; his blade easily slicing through his chitin armor. The man tried to avoid, but the blade was simply too long.

Again he jumped to the side, avoiding the dunmer’s saber but instead moving right into the path of the hammer. The weapon made contact with the back of his ebony breastplate and launched him forward onto his face. Lifting himself up, he could see a red flash out of the corner of his eye. The sound of the very air sizzling grew louder as the searing orb of fire advanced towards him.

His attempt to dodge the blast may have saved his life, but not his arm. The flames engulfed it; the mage’s power quickly burned away his sleeve and his flesh. He screamed in pain and crumpled to the ground, cradling his black, smoking arm.

The pain quickly grew and spread. The deep feeling of rage was beginning to surface. All he could think about was making people suffer the way he had. It was a terrible thirst for vengeance and pain upon all who crossed him. He was too weak to fight it this time.

The dunmer watched sadistically as the nord raised his hammer to land the killing blow. With a black flash, Kell’s sword sliced the haft of the weapon, sending its head down onto the man’s shoulder. He fell to his knees growling in pain, then fell on his back as Kell brought the katana across his chest. Dodging another fireball, he outran the dunmer and went straight for the mage.

Charging at a speed that left both his arms following behind him, he gave the altmer no change to recover from his last spell. An arc of blood followed the tip of Kell’s sword as he slew the man.

The dunmer was shocked. She tried to run, but her legs wouldn’t move as the imposing figure slowly made his way to her. His face bore the look of madness. He was easily carrying the heavy daedric weapon in one hand, the hand that had been so badly burned. As he approached, the sight of the arm carrying the weapon was pure terror to her. Where the skin had burned away revealed black ebony plating. The device made strange clicking noises as Kell’s fingers tightened around the hilt of his weapon. She turned to run, but didn’t even finish spinning around.

Again, Kell chuckled. He had just killed four people in a matter of minutes. His madness faded and was replaced by blackness.

[Kiln]

I just read your story and I'm looking forward to another update.
Character description is definately one of your strong points.

[Kell-Reevor]

I'm hoping to get as much of this done as possible before the fall semester starts. Though I will only have to go three times a week, and I have nice long breaks between classes (one reaching 3 hours). So I might have less time to write, or maybe even more.

Anyways....

*************************************************

“Who are you?” Kell asked.

The form before him growled. It appeared to be a Nord, drenched in blood, donning ruined Imperial steel armor, and bound in a rusty form-fitting iron cage.

“What do you want from me?”

The man spat, the blackness around him shifting to a reddish hue. “I want you to stop being such a COWARD!”

Kell backed, gripping his head in agony with his left hand. His right arm was gone. The cage began to sway side to side from its chain, which reached into the void above. The jingle created by this was nerve-racking to Kell.

“Why are you AFRAID to AVENGE US!?”

Each word the man shouted at him was another searing dagger into his brain. The cage was now swinging in a circular motion, the man inside laughing maniacally and chanting ‘KILL THE THREE!’ ‘KILL THE THREE!’. Kell could barely hear his final words, yet they rung loud and clear within his mind.

“If you don’t… I will.”

**************************************************

Kell eased his eyes open, afraid to move. The first think he saw was Amara, knelt by the bed he was in. Her head was down and resting in her folded arms; she was sound asleep. Kell took great care not to wake her as he slipped off of the course brown mattress. Upon placing his feet on the ground he lost his balance. He felt very feeble and was extremely hungry.

Taking in his surroundings, he realized he was on the wooden platform the Altmer stood upon. A door was against the back wall, but he ignored it. Rubbing his burning eyes, he thought about the last moments he could recall. He had brought down the Bosmer, but there were three left. He took a hit from the Nord’s hammer, then…

Then the fireball… He quickly pulled up his right arm, finding it wrapped in dirty cloth. All he could remember was extreme pain, though now it was gone. After unraveling the makeshift bandages, he felt his heart stop. There was nothing left. It was just an ebony machine caked with the blackened remains of what used to be his skin. The Argonian dropped to his knees; he was close to vomiting, though there was nothing that would come up.

“I see you finally woke up.”

Kell looked pathetically in the direction the whisper came from. His vision was blurring, but he could still make out the short figure leaning on the wall next to the door.

“Come on, we don’t want to wake up Amara.” Bryce approached and assisted him into the next room.

The chamber was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. An underground lake was below him, with a spire encrusted with crystals of various colors stretched to the high cavern ceiling. Mushrooms that provided illumination lined the walls all over the cavern, giving it a surreal blue glow. Kell was standing on another wooden platform with a ladder leading to a stone ledge that spiraled across the walls, eventually leading to a natural bridge to the top of the spire.

Bryce walked to a crate, and then returned holding an orange ceramic plate. “Here, you should eat something.” He handed the plate to Kell. On it was a few strips of scrib jerky, two ash yams, and a piece of bread that was so stale it could be used to kill a man.

Kell took his gaze from the plate and stared blankly at the spire in the center of the room. There was no doubt that he was hungry, but he had too many things on his mind.

“How’s the girl?” He asked.

Bryce crossed his arms and joined him in gazing at the spire. “Wore herself out. She spent most of her time calling you an ‘idiot’ in your sleep.” He paused for a moment. “Yet she still never left your side.”

“Bah.” Kell was again starting to feel sick. “How long was I out?”

“Two days, give or take.”

Kell lifted his arm and gave it another look. “She was by me for two days?” The thought made him uncomfortable.

“That’s right. For two days she was there, refusing to eat until you woke up. I’ve never seen anyone as angry and worried as she was.” Bryce’s tone remained emotionless. He turned and started for the door.

“Wait.” Kell picked the bread off the plate and handed the rest to Bryce. “When she wakes up, give that to her.”

Bryce again didn’t argue. He took the plate and reached for the door handle.

“One more thing.” Bryce stopped, waiting for Kell to finish. “Thank you.” It was clear what he meant; he was thanking Bryce for not asking about his arm.

“To have something like that, you must have endured an unspeakable amount of pain. I wouldn’t dare ask to relive it by asking questions.” With that, he opened the door and slipped through.

“You have no idea.”

*******************************************************

Kell sat on the stone ledge with his feet dangling over, barely hovering above the water. His cape, shirt, and breastplate were neatly folded and stacked behind him, the bread resting on the breastplate. He reached for it and dipped it in the water in an attempt to soften it. It was no use. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was really a lightweight brown rock the Breton had mistaken for bread. With a sigh, he tossed it into the water and watched it float away.

Now for the unpleasant part. He needed to wash the burnt flesh off of his arm. The very thought nearly made him retch, but he controlled himself. He laid on his belly and dipped his arm into the water, rubbing it with one of the pieces of cloth formerly wrapped around it. A black cloud began to form in the water. He was unsure if he could stop himself from getting sick.

It was finally over; he sat himself up and started to dry his arm with another swatch of cloth. It was now a shiny machine of lifeless ebony, animated through a means unknown to him. With his right hand he gripped the cold thing tightly, barely able to stop from screaming in frustration.

Soft footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. He stood and turned to see Amara, in shock. She first looked to his arm, then to his chest. His natural colors were nearly gone, replaced by horrid scars, many from burns and many from awful cuts. She was unable to comprehend what could have caused that much damage to an Argonian’s scaled hide. Teary eyed, she ran to him and embraced him in a hug, nearly knocking him into the water.

“By Stendarr, that hurts,” he wheezed. He was barely able to push her off of him. Half expecting her to slug him, he was not prepared for a bear hug.

“What is the matter with you?! How could you do that to yourself?! How could you do that to me?!” This continued for a short time. Kell was again sitting on the ledge with his feet dangling above the water, taking the abuse. Finally, she ran out of breath, and joined him.

“I’m sorry,” he finally muttered.

She didn’t say a thing. For some time neither of them did. They simply gazed at the massive, majestic stalagmite reaching to the ceiling.

[Kiln]

Nice update. Can't wait to see what happens next.

This post has been edited by Kiln: Jul 21 2005, 04:28 PM

[Kell-Reevor]

I'm a little sleepy, but I decided it was finally time to introduce the villains.




The passage was long, narrow, and dark. It was a dungeon. It was Horsek’s dungeon. It was the place the old Nord was never to leave. He was bound there to guard its secrets, his punishment for the crimes he committed to the complex’s former inhabitants.

The old dwemer machinery that provided this section of the ruins with power had long since stopped clattering, robbing the claustrophobic facility of light. The stench of death emanating from his companion was overpowering, even for the old necromancer. The clanging of the thing’s heavy metal boots echoed throughout the corridor, easily giving away their arrival to the doors ahead.

With a shove, the round metal doors gave way, squealing as the opened. Before his was a small room, light by a single candle. There was only an old bed, a bookshelf, and a table and chair. Any fabric of the bead had rotted away a long time ago, leaving uncomfortable metal bars. The three-shelved bookshelf was stocked with books in amazingly good condition. Sitting in the rotting chair before the table was Konimus, master of alteration.

Konimus was truly a unique one. Scoffing at the idea of donning a stereotypical robe, he chose a grey jumpsuit. The suit was tucked into black boots and black gloves, the fingertips removed to allow his claws to stick out. At his waste were four belts lined on top of each other. Straps trailed from his belts over his shoulders, forming a harness for his massive sword, ‘The Whistling Willow’, or simply ‘Willow’. He was for the most part human, save for the claws, reptilian eyes, and the two horns that jutted from under his silver hair. Konimus was a half-breed.

The thought of an Argonian with a Human disgusted some people, including Horsek. Some people simply didn’t care, viewing everyone as people united under one rule. The rest thought it was the sweetest thing they ever heard of, the idea that love would mean so much to two people that it would overshadow their obvious differences. The people disgusted by it were many, however, and often felt they were racially superior.

Most half-breeds would simply take on the traits of their mother, masking their mixed heritage. Konimus, however, was one of few that inherited traits from both parents. At first, it never bothered him. He led a normal life as an Imperial citizen, eventually joining The Legion. It was at this time that things went to Oblivion for Konimus. It was now that bigotry had finally impacted his life. It was not through the actions of others, however, but of his own.

The constant slave raids in The Black Marsh and the Empire’s “efforts to end them” brought about civil disobedience and protesting from the Argonian inhabitants. Fearful of a massacre of Imperial citizens, troops were deployed to silence them. Their orders were simple…kill them all. Konimus had a choice: follow his superior’s orders, or die a traitor’s death.

Anyone that ever says people die a quick death at the hands of a sword has never fought a battle, if the incident could be called that. More often than not, the victim suffers miserably before they finally die. Life is strange like that, strong and fragile at the same time. The dieing eyes of the people Konimus dispatched still haunt him to this day, ten years later. His weeping could be heard through the entire facility he now called his home. It hurt him the most because, while he had always considered himself human, he could never escape the reality that he was also Argonian, the very people he had put to the sword.

He had told his story many times to Horsek; as well as to Direnvyn, before the unfortunate Altmer blew himself apart. Horsek cared little for his whining, but he dared not mention it. He respected the man too much to piss him off, and deep down, he was beginning to worry about him. He had an unhealthy habit of collecting books that recorded the suffering the Argonians endured, both fiction and non-fiction, as he could relate what he had done to the contents within. By doing this, he was only fueling his madness. The thing that worried Horsek the most, however, was the fact that Konimus hated himself for that massacre, yet he would turn his weapon on any human without regrets.

Convinced he was too deep in his thoughts to hear the two approach, Horsek spoke. “We have been having some power out…”

“Why are people so quick to look down on anyone other than their own kind?” Konimus interrupted.

Horsek was confused, and worried he knew where Konimus was heading.

“They regard everyone else as animals, as fodder to be scraped from their boots.”

Now he was scared. “Sir?” the Nord managed to whimper.

The hollow thud of a book slamming shut made him jump. It wasn’t physically the loudest thing he had ever heard, but at that moment it seemed like it. He noted Willow resting on the table. He saw what the thing could do. The weapon’s design consisted of spikes that grew out and hung down the length of the blade, resembling the branches of a willow tree. The distinct whistle it made as it was swung completed its name. It appeared as something directly out of a nightmare, tearing and crushing rather than cleaving. Horsek had absolutely no desire to be pulverized by it.

Konimus spun around and slammed the book on the floor. Horsek retreated a step, while the thing that was Direnvyn remained motionless. Konimus reached behind him and lifted the sword with one hand, his skill with alteration making what an Orc would have trouble carrying seem almost weightless. He kicked the old chair away, and then turned to bring his weapon down upon the table. Each crash he made in his rampage was deafening in the small room.

It was over almost as quickly as it began. Konimus was very still, his head hung low as he viewed what just two seconds ago had been a sturdy table.

Horsek kneeled over and picked up the book he had been reading. ‘The Seed.’ “Why are you doing this to yourself? You will only hurt yourself.”

Konimus clicked the massive weapon to his harness then turned to glare at the necromancer. Two black eyes and a tattoo on his forehead Horsek sometimes call the third eye; a four-parted, circumcised square with a line jutting from the bottom that split into two diagonals. The glare faded, and he sighed. “I’m leaving this place.”

“Why?” Horsek asked gruffly.

The man’s eyes wandered to the book still in Horsek’s grip. “I must leave to repent for my crimes. Rotting in this rusty metal pit is nowhere near enough to compensate for what I’ve done.” He looked up. “You two should consider doing the same.”

Horsek shook his head. “Impossible,” he grunted, “The secrets I possess must never pass on to another.” He looked to his right to the giant figure towering over him. “As for Direnvyn, I’m not sure he would be accepted anywhere outside of this ‘rusty metal pit’.”

He had a point; the only visible part of Direnvyn was his head, leaning off to the side on the top of his metal body. The flesh around his mouth had melted away, and a small metal plate had to be bolted over it to keep him from drooling all over himself. From the corners of the plate leaked a thick black ooze. The same substance leaked from his blank, dead eyes, making him appear to have been weeping. His secret of releasing the power in a soul gem with a single, chaotic burst died the same day he did.

Konimus made for the door. “These are troubled times, I should have no trouble finding penance in a place like Cyrodiil. Where people gather, trouble gathers as well.”

That was that. He never said goodbye. He simply told them he was leaving, then left.

[MerGirl]

Oops! Sorry, did not notice this update. *blushes*

Anyway, very nice and detailed. I like this chapter very much. Lots of details and good background of the villains (all three of them were villains, right?). I actually felt sorry for Konimus. He sounds like he's had an encounter with some very unfair prejudice. I would like to read more about him, too.

Here's a as well as my own .

Please continue! And keep it up with this kind of detail!

[Kiln]

Nice update, your characters are well described and you describe them with enormous emotion...awaiting an update.

[Kell-Reevor]

Thanks for the feedback. I was in fact, aiming for the sympathetic approach to Konimus. All three are actually the type of 'bad guys that aren't really bad guys.'

I'll have an update soon.

[Kiln]

Every story needs a bad guy that isn't really a bad guy but he's just misunderstood, you have three so I applaud you. Though I hope you can make it work, best of luck.

[Kell-Reevor]

I'm attempting a new writing style. With lots of hope I might start to get good at it. Anyhow, I think I've left you without an update for long enough.



Amara’s stomach growled; the hollow gurgle finally breaking the silence. Apparently, she had not eaten the plate Bryce brought to her. Kell could only wonder when she had last eaten. As for himself, he hadn’t eaten since he arrived in Seyda Neen. Oh yes, he was hungry… very hungry… but that was not going to slow him down. No sir. Only the rain would do that; that accursed rain that threatened to draw back those unpleasant memories.

With a muffled grunt, Amara rose to her feet. She looked down at Kell, and flashed him a small smile; that’s right, a smile… so soon after she had finished yelling at him. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

As she walked away, Kell drew his attention from her to the water just inches under his large, three-toed feet. The gentle ripples on the surface produced a shimmering, light blue net on the lake bottom. Lurching forward, Kell carefully rolled the gold cuffs of his pants to his knees, revealing more of those hateful scars, and then scooted forward to dip his feet into the water. It was neither hot nor cold. It was as if his feet were floating freely in a weightless nothing. The commotion he made on the surface sent shockwaves across the lake bottom, disrupting the shifting net with ever expanding rings. Stendarr be damned if that wasn’t the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

The shuffle of Amara’s long brown pants against the cavern floor signaled her return. In her hands was the plate Bryce had brought to her. The eight strips of jerky and the two ash yams remained untouched; they hadn’t even shifted from being carried. ‘See that? Not a thing missing. I sure can call ‘em.’ Her knees popped and cracked as she resumed her position to Kell’s left, setting the plate between them.

“Would you like to share this with me? You’re probably as hungry as I am.”

‘Yeah, probably. Fetcher.’ He stopped himself from snapping at her. The last thing he wanted was to take his frustration out on Amara. That just wasn’t what he did. “I suppose,” he managed to whisper. He looked at the plate and hesitated. At least she was on his left. Had she seated herself on his right, well… let’s just say the thought of that cold ebony claw reaching for the plate, growing closer and closer to Amara, gave him the chills.

Divided up, the plate would yield four strips of jerky and an ash yam each. ‘A perfect, even divide. What are the odds?’ Not much, but it was better than nothing. It could probably carry them to Caldera. Whatever happened to the four people he killed, he was certain Bryce raided their pockets first. With all hopes, they could now afford a real meal before visiting the guild guide in the Mage’s Guild. After that, he could dump the midget and the girl at Ald-Ruhn and continue on his way. The perfect plan… if they had the money. Of course, he by no means despised the two. He simply didn’t want them involved.

He lifted an ash yam from its resting place. Using his thumb nail, he carved a deep line around it, and then pulled it apart. ‘Grey on the outside, grey on the inside. What a treat!’ Convinced it wasn’t going to be any more appetizing, he popped the smaller half into his mouth. It tasted like dirt, but it tasted good. Hunger was indeed the best spice.

“Why are you here?” Amara asked. She turned to look at him as she did this, noting his eyes. They were traveling together for a few days now and she never noticed how human his eyes really were. An Argonian covered head to foot in horrible scars, with the blue with brown eyes of a human, and with a mechanical ebony right arm. She simply had to know what brought this strange being here.

Kell didn’t want to answer. He tried his best to keep his mouth shut and concentrate on chewing. If he was quiet, she might drop the subject. “I’m looking for my father,” he blurted, just after swallowing. ‘Oops, now you’ve done it.’

Amara shifted a bit to better face him. ‘Here it comes.’ “Who’s your father?” she pressed. ‘Right on queue!’

“Marcus Ventrius,” he said numbly. It really was pointless to even try holding back. He clearly wasn’t good at keeping his business His business. Or maybe it wasn’t that. Maybe… he was simply starting to trust her a bit more. Maybe… she grew on him a bit. That was an uncomfortable thought. He was uneasy just having her sitting next to him.

“Ventrius… you’re father was a human?” Her face had become quizzical; she was not expecting that. Sure, it explained the eyes, but there was still more.

Kell started to kick his feet in a slow rhythm, again disrupting the net that had liberated the floor from the previous rings. “He did his best to raise me, but he was often away at The Legion’s whim. The guards and servants at his manor took it from there.” His kicking stopped, and he was now holding his right arm up by the wrist. “One of the servants there was a devout worshipper of Stendarr. She taught me the importance of mercy, even to our most hated enemies.” ‘Mercy indeed. Good job showing that to the four smugglers.’ “The guards taught me what little I know about combat. Their biggest lessons were the importance of movement and the importance of thinking. I never did get the hang of weapons.” His life in a nutshell, but he wasn’t done there. “My real name is Kell Ventrius. Kell-Reevor is what my mother sometimes called me, or so I’ve been told.”

“And what about your mother?” she asked almost instinctively, clearly fascinated by his story.

‘Didn’t see that one coming did ya?’ He winced at the question. “She died when I was very young. That’s all I have to say about it.”

He didn’t want to talk about it, so she didn’t ask again. She knew so much more about her strange traveling companion, and that was more than enough. Amara turned her head to the stalagmite in the center of the underground lake and began to reflect upon what he told her.

“Amara.”

She jerked her head back to him, almost shocked by the whisper, but ready to answer any questions he would have about her. The questions, however, never came.

“I’m leaving you and Bryce in Ald-Ruhn, that’s no secret. But…” He was regarding her with a cold stare, “after I leave, I want you two to go home.” He was not going to allow her to protest, he continued before she could get a word out. “By staying here you are depriving him of his family, and you are putting yourself in needless danger. I want you both to go home to your awaiting families.” His gaze was slowly shifting away, back to the stalagmite. “Families are a wonderful thing, Amara. I could have told you that well before I left mine to find its missing member.”

She was speechless. Of all the things he could have said, she would have never expected that. Not in a million years, not in a million eras. Before she could sigh dejectedly, her eyes lit up. It was the light of an idea.

“You said you are looking for your father. Will you be going home to Cyrodiil as well when you find him?” she asked, a smile forming.

‘I don’t like that look.’ “Well, yeah. But…”

“How about we all go back together?” The smile was ear to ear. Her eyes looked up at him like a puppy expecting a treat.

Kell was tired of this. He rested his head in his left hand, his elbow pushing into his thigh. “Sure, if that’s what it takes to get you home,” he grumbled, sighing with defeat.

Finally, they continued eating. Who would have thought Amara’s face could get any brighter than it already was? Kell was getting more uncomfortable. She just wanted to be his friend, but Kell wasn’t used to having any. His whole life, up until he left with his father, he had spent in the manor. He rarely went outside into the city, preferring instead to read the many books in his father’s study, or listen to the stories of the old guards.

Never before did he think he would want to be left alone.

This post has been edited by Kell-Reevor: Jul 29 2005, 08:19 PM