Part 1

The road was long and weary. Somehow it never seemed to end, because around the bend, just when it seemed it would run into one of the mountains, off it weaved down into a dell or round into a cleft, making each stop seem further. He'd been travelling nonstop now for five days, resting only for a few hours, tending to a campfire in the hope of keeping the wolves at bay. He could hear them, all around, howling in the peripheral gloom of the mountains, and he was suprised they hadn't made their move. He had no weapons that would have put up much of a fight; a rusty old shortsword, a bow with the strings torn and feathered. It was hardly a fair fight.

Shivering in his furs, he forced he continued to ride wearily on, his skin raw and his eyes narrow. The snow had nearly made him blind at the top of the pass, but now he was at least descending into the fertile basin of Cyrodiil, and that gave him a gleam of hope that maybe, just maybe, the worst of the journey was over.

He drew in a deep breath of the cold mountain air, and breathed out slowly to watch it spiral into the atmostphere of the morning. He'd only been walking two hours, and already he felt as though he would drop. Licking his lips, now a blistering mess thanks to the wind, Tor rubbed his arms against his sides and continued to draw his horse forward.

The sad part was leaving his home behind. It was now several months distant, and although he'd been foolish enough to select the path through Skyrim rather than Hammerfell - especially considering it was now into Frost Fall - he wasn't sure the path really mattered. Had he gone the other way, he'd have been complaining about searing heat that would parch his mouth. He smiled wearily. Either road, he still wished he could be at home, sitting with his eyes closed listening to the home fire cackle, or gazing casually as the ships sailed the seas outside of his window.

All of it was gone now. The house a ruin, the fire a mess of choking ash that had long since burnt out. The only fire in that wreak now was the glowing embers of the support beams, occasionally brought to life by the wind and the heat that resonated from the stones the night they had gutted his home.

He closed his eyes, fighting back the memory. One dark night, one pale moon that did not show their approach, and his entire family had been slain. He was the only one left. Tor Beldric, a boy that had been tempered to manhood amidst the destruction. He tightened his fist in hatred, memory of the oath, and memory of the task that lay before him. He stooped and reached into his saddle for some corn.

It all came down to the eight bells. His mother had known it, which is why her death had been ordered. His father and sister had little to do with it, except perhaps their natural gifts for defence. It was all due to the eight bells. He gently altered course along the pass, watching the hooves of his steed slip near the edge to send rocks scrambling down the side before the horse righted itself and pressed prints into the soft crunch of snow. He closed his eyes and recited the verse that his mother had taught him.

"Eight keys for eight locks, each one a bell,
Seven songs of fairness, one trembling death knell,
Open the Serpent, shift the wake, push forward to Bregale,
Slide the door as dark as night, do not heed the hail,
Eight bells to lift it high, eight to riches and glory,
Eight to purge the Blue Ring Tryst and end their dreadful story."

"Cute."

His eyes opened. On either side stood two warriors. On the left a vicious, snarling Dark Elf had a bow levelled at his heart, and a smaller man with an evil glint fingered a dagger. On the right stood two Nords, twins by the look of them. Dead centre were two more figures, one with sword, one with bow. He swallowed and tried to think. He didn't like where this was going.
"Please." he said, in an almost subdued fashion.
"Pleeeease." One of the men said, walking forward and flapping his arms in a mocking, laughing gesture. The others smirked. The leader turned to the man next to him. "Shamus, you know what to do."

The other bandit at the front pointed at Tor's purse.
"Money. Gold. Mullauh. Call it what you will, we're having it."
Tor swallowed, and shrugged. For all his will desired to drive the horse off the cliff rather than to submit, that wouldn't help his situation. He reached down and threw the purse at the bandits.
"Here." he said. One green bag with his entire lifes savings. Thirty Septims. Shamus gave it a look of scorn, and pocketed it, before looking up. His keen eyes caught something around the boy's neck.
"That necklace. Ours. Hand it over, now."

Tor looked at them with his ice blue eyes, trying feverishly to decide what to do. Beg? It wouldn't work. Defiance? He'd die. No matter. He couldn't surrender it.
"No." he said, simply. The bandits laughed. Shamus grinned, and made a motion to someone behind Tor.
"Mungo, if you please." he asked.

THUD. Pain, red, blinding bright neon, then nothing but darkness. Tor collasped, his head a bloody mess as he slid off the horse. From behind him, Mungo grinned, pleased that he'd had the oppotunity to hit something. Hard. Shamus walked forward, stooped, and grabbed at the neck of the traveller, ripping away the necklace.
"Mungo do good!"
Shamus looked up. "Yeah. He's still alive, but he's going to have one hell of a headache. Come on." he said, pausing only to look at the trinkets his fist now contained.

On the necklace were a few stones of little import, and eight minature bells. Shamus pursed his lips, looked around to make sure the others were more intrested in the paltry thirty septims, and pocketed it.

Eight minature bells. Strange, but he guessed it would fetch a good price.

Prt 2

Tor awoke, his view a strange shade of crimson. At first he thought it must have been sunset, but then he realised that he was inside, and there was no sunlight to be seen, only the flickering of a candle on a dresser. He winced, and reached up tenativly to touch his head. He could feel the sticky wetness of where his blood had congealed, and groaned. Everything was a groggy mess of pain and confusion. Then a voice came.

"Rest easy." The old man said. Tor's eyes widened, and he realised that he hadn't noticed him in the corner of the room before. He was well past his prime, and from the look of his wisened features was probably pushing eighty. His hair was receeding and thin, already a brilliant dash of white, and his eyes were slightly cloudy through age. He looked on at Tor with concern.
"Where?" Tor said, finding words difficult. His mouth was dry.
"You're in my cabin, up here in the Ferrall mountains. I found you at the roadside on Highcliff pass. You're safe, for the moment."
"Thank you." Tor tried to say, though his mouth was clogged with only a mumble that made words hard to form.
"You're welcome. In the morning I'll head down to a shrine not far from here. A friend of mine, a priest of Akatosh, stays there in hermetic seclusion. He'll be able to heal your wounds. For now..." the old man stood, stretching slightly, "for now, you need to sleep."
"Name..." Tor muttered, already slipping back into unconsciousness. The old man smiled, and walked over to press a gentle, if cold, hand on the boys wrist.
"Belwyn." he said, before the room grew dark.

---

"Tor!" The cry, like a peircing siren, caught him off guard, just long enough for his father to gently tap his ribs with the wooden sword. The boy winced, and turned to see who called him. It was his mother. He turned back to his father, smiling almost apologetically.
"Sorry father, I..."
"Became distracted." The old man nodded, understanding immediatly, before he walked over and grappled his son. "Never become distracted, Tor. If I were the enemy, you'd have your guts all over the floor by now, wouldn't you?"
Tor nodded and sighed. "Yes, father."
"Good. Lesson's over for today. Go find out what that mad cow wants."

With that, Tor took off across the plains outside their home, running across the freshly ploughed fields and past the breathtaking view of the coast, stretching straight as far as the eye could see, rising cliffs and rolling waves divided only by a thin line of rocky beaches or sand. The stiff Eastern breeze swept over High Rock, making the boy feel alive as he left his fathers regime. He didn't know why his father thought that an hour should be spent every day training, using wooden swords and shields, but he trusted enough not to question it. Part of him would have preferred to spend more time using magic, but he was too young to travel to Daggerfall to find assistance or someone that could train him. Reaching the house, he walked in.
"Tor." His mother said, her smile welcoming and homely. "Come over here, I want to show you something."

Obediently he followed, past the roaring fire and into the study, where all manner of books and scrolls were arrayed for study. He stopped at the desk and looked at the parchment his mother had lain out in front of him.
"This is it, Tor." She said, smiling and tapping his hand in excitement. "This is the clue I've been looking for. I bought this from a passing merchant and, by chance, it happens to mark the name I've been looking for all these years!" Tor paused and looked at his mother, suprised and pleased at the same time. His mouth somehow managed to sound out the name.
"Bregale?"
"Yes!" His mother cried, tapping him excitedly. "Bregale! From there the other clues will make sense! We're so close!"

Tor beamed, touching the eight bells that hung around his neck. They were more than just ornamental. They were the heirlooms of his family, passed down from firstborn son to firstborn son. Nobody had ever considered their meaning before, until his mother had married his father and decided that, should there be a treasure for the family, her son should have it. She'd always carried a natural intrest in cartography, and so her search for Bregale was little more than a sideline. The other lines of the poem bothered her more. Tor had seen her stooped at the fire, thinking on the phrases. The Blue Ring Tryst meant more to her than she was willing to say.

---

"Ahgh..." Tor groaned as a hand touched him, jarring him out of his uneasy sleep. Two men stood, one with his hands aglow of arcane power, pushing it over the boy's body.
"Easy, my boy..." the priest said, finishing the miraculous process. The wounds sealed, the flesh returned to its colour, the blood faded away. "You've had quite a scrap, havn't you?"
Tor nodded, sitting up in bed. "Bandits." he said. The two men looked at each other and nodded gravely. "Yes, I fear you're probably right. The Five Skulls. How much did they take from you?"
Tor's eyes suddenly widened with panic as his hands reached for his neck. The bells were gone. He looked up in desperation at Belwyn and the Priest.
"Everything." he sighed.

A very interesting story, I was surprised by the return of the thieves, though I'm assuming that this takes place before they find their fate with the assassin, I wonder if the main character has anything to do with their deaths considering they've taken something very important to him...I suppose I'll have to wait and find out.

I like the descriptive elements and the level of realism you weave into your stories as well as the personalities you give to your characters, I shall very much look forward to future updates.

Prt 3

"Why are you helping me?" Tor asked, slipping into his battered and tarnished furs. Belwyn looked at him, his kindly face arching with the wrinkles of time.
"Why shouldn't I? You look like you need help." Belwyn replied.

Tor smiled. For the past four days he'd stayed at Belwyn's cabin, eating well on the chewy bear meat that the old man provided, drinking heartily at night to get his strength up. His host was a strange one. He never asked a single question about Tor, or elaborated on why he was out in the mountains, in a lonely cabin days from any other form of civilisation. He just fed the boy and offered him the hospitality of his home.
"Nobody gives something for nothing." Tor said, showing an already jaded view of the world. It was one of the gifts his father had passed on. As much as the man had a habit of cursing and calling his mother an old cow (usually to her face, and always with a warmth of affection), he also occasionally came out with a gem of truth. Belwyn laughed.
"Yes, I suppose that's true." he admitted, patting Tor on the back. "Well, seeing as you have nothing, and I have given you something, obviously I have to make a deal with you, don't I?" The old man rubbed his palms, clearly taking glee in his jest. Finally, he snapped his fingers, as though he had it. Tor watched, amazed that the mans arthritis didn't flare up. "How about this. What I want from you, Tor, is the most valuable thing you can give me; your friendship. Deal?"
Tor laughed. "Deal." he said, shaking the old mans hand, and smiling with mirth for the first time since his home had been destroyed.

For the first few miles he followed Belwyn, who seemed to be more agile and spritely outside than in. Although he'd lost his horse, Tor hadn't given it much thought. For one thing he seemed to be travelling at the same pace on the mountains anyway, given the footfalls and balance requirements, and secondly his mind was preoccupied with the bells. He had to get them back, and all he had was the name: Five Skulls. It wasn't much of a lead to go on.

It was probably midday before Belwyn stopped, pausing for a moment to look at the youth. "You know," he began, "I've never been one for walking too far from my home. You were lucky I was returning from business in Bruma. Here is where I found you, and so I would imagine that your bandits are, one would assume, somewhere around here. I'd try heading East. About three miles down the pass there is a track that leads off, through some rocks. Small, and hard to find unless you're looking for it. Follow that up maybe five miles and you'll find an old fort, built in the second era to keep travellers safe. Fort... ah... Keller? It's the only place around here that bandits would hole up. The Five Skulls used to be up at Maidenhole Mine, but that was cleaned out by a group of adventurers not a week ago, so if they got out - and it seems they did - they'll be looking for a new place. My guess is that they've moved to Keller and they're just setting up shop." The old man paused, a wieght on his mind. He had another, very good reason to believe that the bandits were new to the area, though he wasn't prepared to divulge it. He knew the boy would go regardless. Better to keep him ill-informed.

"Thank you." Tor said, nodding and smiling once more. For an old hermit, Belwyn seemed to know everything that went on around the area. He didn't want to ask questions. "I'd better go. Thank you."

The old man grabbed his hand.

"Here," he said, "take this." From his scabbard he pulled out a gleaming silver sword. "You know how to wield it, I trust? Use it well. Served me in the past, it has, though I've little use for it now. I hunt by bow, and no thief has tried to steal from me for twenty years, I doubt they'll start now."
"I can't..." Tor began, only to find the weapon thrust into his hand.
"Poppycock. You can, and you will. You'll need it, too. "
Tor nodded, and waved goodbye, beginning his walk up to the Fort.
"Oh! Tor!" Belwyn called out, causing him to turn.
"Yes?"
"Whatever you do, don't go any deeper than the entryway to the Fort. Get your necklace, and leave!"

Tor nodded, turning back to the road ahead of him and the task that awaited.

Ah nice. First I though that Tor turns out to be that assassin from guard duty sucks. Now however, I think he'll arrive after the assassin. Please continue.

Prt 4

Tor stepped uneasily through the dark, his eyes narrowing to try and peirce through the gloom and discover what was happening. His nerves were already frayed and on edge; only ten metres inside the doors, which had sealed behind him in a creaking, heavy oak fashion, he had come across one of the worst things he'd ever seen. A body, flat on the stairs, already with the beginnings of maggots and other detritivores beginning their feast. He'd almost stepped on it, but fortunatly he'd somehow managed to stop his foot landing. Instead he'd edged past, noting the grim arrow through the neck.

The worst part of the journey down was the sounds. He could hear his heart beat, he could hear his footsteps, but beyond that there was nothing. Nothing but a slow moan every now and then, emitted by something below. His mouth was dry and his footfalls uneasy.

Back home, there was a dungeon not too far away. A Goblin hole, as the Fighters Guild had termed it. Granted, the Fighters Guild was nowhere near as popular as the Mages Guild in High Rock, but they'd still made a neat niche cleaning it out every few years, making the surrounding hillside safe from the foul little green beasts. Of course it was still full of less-than-friendly Orcs, a few loose trolls and some ogres, but otherwise it was pleasant enough for walks, as long as the walk made sure you were back home at sunset. He'd often been tempted to help clean it out. Then again, he'd been tempted to do a lot of things, yet this was the first time he'd been away from home. Or underground in a ruined Fort full of who knows what.

Suddenly the small corridor gave way to a larger expanse, and he nervously crept to the centre. There was a fire, unkindled or loved, or rather a place where a fire had been. It was surrounded by crates, candles still burning, bedrolls unused and a thin layer of crimson upon the tiles. He drew his sword and moved forward, then suddenly to the side.

There were no bodies. He didn't like it. Something made him want to turn back, forget the bells, forget everything. Pretend that his family hadn't been brutally slain, pretend that his life hadn't been spared.

Spared? Who was he kidding? It was this emotion that had saved his life, cursed him with this fate. The emotion of fear. The need to leave the house, forget that his family was in danger, fail to help fight with his father and sister and instead run, crying, fearful, to the barn. It was this emotion that made him watch as the men had ransacked the house, cut his father down in a few merciless strokes on the porch, drawn a sword through his mother, caved in his sisters body with a warhammer, tossing her broken shell casually into the house as they threw torches to ignite it all. It was fear that had made him watch. He wasn't going to let it make him retreat now.

Footsteps again resounded. Many footprints, too many to count. He paused and tried to listen in the darkness. From down below, through a door he could barely make out, he watched as the strange procession marched forth. The slowly decomposing remains of five men and women, once human, now little more than mindless zombies. Their flesh wasn't yet rotting, but their grevous wounds and lumbering movement revealed their true nature. And amongst them all, leading as a puppetmaster would, a man dressed solely in black, a keen evil in his eyes. Tor spat. A Necromancer.

He knew from the dress and the zombies. He knew from the conversations he'd overheard from Mages that he'd followed around town, hoping to gain some kind of arcane insight from their banter. He knew instinctivly from the foul evil the man emitted. The zombies were also recognisable. Five of the Five Skulls. The dead man on the step made six. Where the seventh was, he did not know. He also had no idea where the necklace was, or even if he should face them.

The choice was not his. A zombie caught his scent and came lumbering towards him. Tor closed his eyes, prayed silently, and charged.

Hack and slash, hack and slash, duck, parry and weave. He couldn't see what he was doing in the light, or know where the foul creatures came from. He saw bolts of firey blue ice shoot past him, causing a glow in the caverns, he heard screams and the sound of metal sinking into flesh and bone, he felt his sword bite deep and true. Then he felt another bolt, only this time it hit him. The cold took over his nervous system, a tangling mass of ice and pain. It felt like the time He'd jumped into the nearby lake in the middle of winter, naked as the day he was born. It felt like the pain of the icy water, multiplied by a thousand. It was as though the pain was inside him, spreading shards through his nervous system. He fell to the floor and looked up.

All but two were dead by his hand. Only one zombie, a tall, lumbering giant with a plain expression and an arrow through it's neck, and the necromancer remained. Tor swallowed and looked up.
"Fool." The necromancer said, his voice level and sickening. "Four perfectly good creations wasted. Only fitting, I think, to have your blood as a replacement."
"Urrrgh..." The zombie echoed. Tor's colour melted to pale as the mage brought up one hand to cast the final strike...

An arrow thudded into him, causing his body to collapse forward. The zombie looked at it's master for a moment, before staggering around, unsure of itself. Then another arrow struck it, though for some reason it didn't die. Nor did it attack. It just...didn't do anything.

Tor rose to his feet to see what had happened, edging warily pass the zombie. It didn't move towards him; it didn't move at all. It just looked blankly, as though it wasn't really sure what it was supposed to do. He edged across to find his saviour. In the corner, huddled up in a bloody mess, everywhere blood-soaked cotton binding wounds, a sole bowman looked back. Tor bent down to look at him. The bowman dropped his bow, half from fatigue, half from relief.
"Dead?"
"I think so."
"Good. Don't worry about the last zombie, he won't hurt you."
"How do you know?" Tor asked. The bowman managed a thin smile.
"He's too stupid. Too stupid in real life, too stupid in death. Probably has no idea what to do."
"Thank you for..." Tor began, only to pause. It was one of the bandits. It was one of the bandits that had robbed him! Why was he thanking him? What was going through his mind?
"Screw it, kid. That man made my friends into monsters. Monsters you...urgh...dispatched with a certain flair, innit?"
Tor recoiled back, unsure what he was supposed to say. Or do. Rightfully the man deserved to die, and yet...yet he had just saved his life. His mind was a mixture of thoughts. They flooded him with enough anger to decide. With lightning speed he had his sword in hand, at the throat of the bandit, his eyes with a keen intent.
"Where's my necklace?" He demanded. The bandit looked at him, before reaching up and swatting the sword away.
"I know you..." he muttered. "Kid on the road, a few days back. Before this. Well, you're too late." Suddenly he began to laugh, a distorted noise combined with hacks and coughs. "That...mage... might have got everyone else, but me, Jonas and Mungo? We was done by some adventurer. Probably headed into town to sell his loot before returning here to explore further. Take the Fort in stages. I doubt he ever reached the point where the others were... turned."
"What?"
The bandit laughed again. "Kid, I ain't got your necklace. My guess? It's either being worn by some bow wielding dandy, or...ahhh, jeez that hurts... it's been sold. S'what I would do."
Tor lowered his sword. He wasn't in the mood for killing. The bandit smiled. "Kid, I ain't in the mood for this. I can't move on my own, but that necromancer? I bet he's got a healing potion or something. Give me a swig and I'll help you get your necklace back. Call it compensation." he grinned, a marred, rotten smile. Tor rose to his feet, backing away from the bloody heap.
"What if I think you deserve to die?"
"Then I'd agree with you." The bandit said. "And that adventurer did for me sure. Been a few days now, and I'm through the worst, but I ain't able to get aid on my own. Barely managed to crawl to this corner before that mage found Mungo's body and turned him into...that thing over there." the bandit motioned to the tall, lumbering zombie. Again he winced. Tor was at a loss for words.
"What....makes me trust you?"
"Nothing. Except... well, you came down here, right? Seven on one you thought, and you still came. Makes me think you've got nothing to lose."

Tor sighed. As much as he hated it, he had a feeling the bandit was right.
"Fine. I'm Tor." he said, moving towards the necromancer.
"Shamus. Pleased to meet...urgh...you." the bandit replied.

Prt 5

It was about half a mile down the road that Tor gave in, and turned to look at it in frustration.
"ARrrgh!" he shouted, flapping his arms and gesturing madly. Shamus, wincing still despite the curative effects of the healing potion, looked on in jaded amusement, scratching his stubble and rotating his arm, trying to get some circulation back. Laid out on a floor in pain for a day or so really didn't do well for his muscles, and most of them were in spasm. Tor turned to him, exasperated. "Why doesn't it go? Why? Why is it following us?"
Shamus looked back and mused. "Dunno. Never seen one do this before. Can't say I'm an expert though. Generally I stay away from places that 'av the underdead."
"That's really helpful." Tor said, wondering about his strange situation. Shamus shrugged.
"My guess... he's following me. Wants to know what to do."
"Can you make it go away? It's beginning to rot in the sunlight!"
"I can try..." Shamus mused, stepping forward.

Turning, he walked up to the rotting, zombiefied corpse that had been lumbering after them since they'd left the fort. When they stopped, it stopped. When they started to move, it moved. All the while, the dumb expression across its face was never removed. Shamus sighed. He'd quite like to fire a few arrows into it's flesh, but it was a friend. Well, more like a minion, but it was still no reason to desecrate the remains.
"Mungo. Go home." he shouted. The zombie looked at him, twisting its neck in a sickening crunch.
"Urrgghhruuughh?"
"Mungo, you stupid lummox of an ox-born slapper! Go Home."
"Urrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr."
"MUNGO! HOME!"
"Urbugbgubguhghrrrh?"

The bandit bowman shrugged. "Guess he wants to stay." he said.

They reached sight of Bruma at dusk, and quickly decided, mainly on Shamus' advice, to stay put for the night, less they got picked off by something on the road down. As far as Tor could tell, through the occasional mispronounced words and gruff commentary, there were two other bandit groups in the area, rivals to what had once been the Five Skulls, and there was no way he'd advocate heading down to town at night. If that was true, Tor pondered, was it really safe to light a campfire and rest? Probably, was the answer. Mungo, as the decomposing zombie seemed to be called, was on guard duty. It seemed to obey every instruction Shamus shouted at it, usually after about three or four reaffirming insults, which meant that it did have it's uses. Of course there were the negatives. Standing downwind of it was one, and somehow he wasn't confident the town guard would let it stroll into Bruma with them. Shamus and Mungo would have to wait outside, under a tree or a shady copse, and he'd have to find the necklace himself.

That wasn't the only thing that Shamus had taken, but it seemed to be the only thing he was going to get back. The question of his other possessions had come up earlier in the day.
"What about my gold?"
"What about it?" Shamus asked, non-chalantly.
"Where is it?"
"Spent it. Hard liqour."
"How? You were in the mountains!"
"Kid, you wern't the only person we tried to rob. But even we ain't going to move on ten soldiers of the Imperial Legion, off on some kind of errand. So we just pretended we was huntsmen, and traded our money - your money - for booze. Which is now in my belly."
"What about my horse?"
"That, too, is now in my belly."
"You ate my horse?"
"Yeah. Nice, too. A little...chewy...but nice enough."
"How could you..."
"Easily. Cut, chop, roast, chew. In that order, otherwise it doesn't work."
Tor remembered just...staring at Shamus in amazement.
"What?" Shamus asked. "Guess you've never had to eat what you can in the mountains, huh?"

Tor shook his head. Not that it mattered anymore. With his strange companions, he had to head into Bruma tomorrow, and there, with luck, he'd find the bells.

Prt 6

Tor glanced up at the beaten woodne sign, swinging freely outside of the store door. It was a small shop, tucked away from the main drag and certainly not the kind that would feature in any sort of map of the place, or some artists recreation of the mountain town. Bruma was a fascinating place for Tor; a bizarre mix of Nord and Imperial. The chapel was pure Cyrodiil, but the wooden houses and their ornate, sculptured pillars, each displaying fantastic craftsmanship in the creation of wards or decoration, were straight from Skyrim. It was a melting pot of two cultures.

As tempting as it was to go to the inn and rest, he knew that Shamus and his...friend... were waiting not too far away. He'd promised to pick up some more potions of healing (Shamus had actually paid him, which made him suspect that he wasn't being completly honest regarding the fate of his stolen septims), but first he had to find the necklace. Everything he had set out to do depended upon it.

The shop he entered, sealing the wooden door behind him and brushing off the snow from his furs, was the third one today. Third, and last. Although a smiths, and not a general store, it was a last grasp hope: there was nowhere else to sell it in Bruma. If it wasn't here, then he'd never find it. Whoever had looted it from Shamus' unconcsious and near-dead body obviously had decided to keep it. Little good it would do them. He finished the thought and stamped his feet in an effort to get some circulation back into his toes.

"Welcome! Can I help you?" Came a call from behind. He spun around to see the smith, a tall and strong women with muscles rippling under her garb. Although she was standing upright and seemed to be fine, his keen nostrils could detect a potent whiff of alcohol on her breath and clothes. It made him wonder if she hadn't been keeping herself warm with a little too much of a tot; it also made him think that she'd probably not been near the forge for many a day. If she had, chances are she'd have caught fire in a blue flame.
"Yes," he said, looking around the room to see if anyone else was present, "I'm hoping that you can. You see, a week ago I was attacked on the pass from Skyrim and..."
"Oh my dear...that's awful. You need some new weapons? Armour? Did you survive? Of course you survived, that's a stupid.." she paused and burped a little, "question, but... uhm... if you were attacked do you have any gold?"

Tor's eyes moved around slightly, and his eyebrows furrowed. Too many questions in too short a time. He was expecting to have to explain the situation, rather than have someone who was perhaps a little away with the fairies pre-empting him. He coughed.
"Well, no..." he admitted, trying to continue. The smith just flopped a hand, giving up all pretense of service.
"Then waaauseareya?" she asked, falling back onto a carefully positioned stool. "If you're nat a custston...mer... then get out."
Tor blinked, completly taken aback. "Uh, well..." he too, gave up being polite. "I had something stolen. Something private and personal. A necklace with eight bells. I was wondering if you'd seen it."
"Get out! No gold, no service!"
"Please..." Tor emplored. The smith just looked at him with derision.

"She has seen it. We've got it in the back room." Came a voice. Quiet at first, coming from behind a wooden beam. Tor turned, suddenly witnessing as a boy emerged. He was slightly younger than Tor, but his muscles were far more developed, and he seemed to at least be sober. His eyes kept flicking nervously, as though he regretted his outburst.
"Wellin, be quiet!" The Smith said, almost falling off her stool. Wellin didn't make eye contact. Instead he just stood his ground, looking at the floor.
"No. It's not right. This man has had something stolen and he should get it back. We don't deal in stolen goods, that's..." he bit his lip, deciding it was best not to talk about things he should have known nothing about. "that's not what we do."
"You have it?" Tor said, his hopes suddenly snatched up. Wellin nodded, stepping forward to ignore his boss.
"In the backroom. An adventurer came by the other day, sold a few things. A claymore, a dagger, a few peices of armour, and your necklace."
Tor beamed. The smith scowled.
"Wellin! Shut up! I'll...I'll..."
Wellin looked at the drunken mess, suddenly fed up, finding new feet. "You'll what? Fire me? Don't bother, I quit. All I do is work. Work all day, for you, doing your job. For what? Food and board! I don't even get a monthly allowance! No more. You can earn your own mead money!"
"Wellin... I..."
Wellin turned away, waving off the threats angrily. He walked past the smith, leaving Tor's sight for a moment. When he returned, he was bearing the necklace.

Tor smiled, taking it and fastening it around his neck. It was as though the world had suddenly filled up with hope again.
"I don't know how to repay you..." he said, gushing out praise on the young blacksmith. Wellin smiled back.
"Well, I don't suppose you know anywhere that needs a smith, do you?"

Once again, great updates. You add content quickly and I find it somewhat hard to keep up. I found it quite amusing that the bandit had eaten Tor's horse and spent his gold on liquor, and also that mungo follows his friend, even in death. Quite well written and very interesting, please update soon.

Edit: haha, you added another part as I was writing this...

Kiln said it all. Does this mean that you're going to add all your characters together? It sounds like fun.

Yeah, I noticed that nearly all of the characters from the short stories have made an appearance in this story, it has been quite interesting thus far.

Yes yes......I second both of you!

have a milanius..cheers!

Prt 7

The problem with walking, any distance at all, ignoring all of the blisters and callouses and soreness and aches and sprains and trips and falls and occasional toilet breaks in thorn bushes and thistles, ignoring all of that, was that eventually you have to stop.

Tor and Wellin had to stop. They were too tired to go on. Shamus probably could have managed a few more miles, having a leaner stomach from missing meals and living from the land. Wellin, for all his youth, seemed to eat more and sleep more than both Tor and Shamus, but that was because of his history in the smithy, working as near slave labour. Mungo didn't need to stop, but then Mungo was dead, and nobody was really suprised.

Tor was pleased he had the smith in his party, especially as he seemed more than willing to go on the quest. The first thing that he'd explained to Wellin back in Bruma was that he was looking for something, and that it was dangerous. He hadn't mentioned exactly what, but the particulars also hadn't been told to Shamus. He didn't tell Wellin because he wanted him to come. He didn't tell Shamus because he didn't trust him. Wellin seemed perfectly content with the thin details. As best Tor could tell, the boy didn't care where he was going, or why. He could have said he was marching off to Summerset Isle to join a Deadra suicide pact and the smith may well have followed.

Wellin coming along, mainly at Tor's assistance, had stirred Shamus up the wrong way. He'd seemed to extend his habit of cursing at Mungo to throwing combined insults at Wellin, too. Usually together without a seperate breath. 'Wellin, why don't you move your blister-boiled backside and keep up, you're lumbering almost as badly as Mungo, and he's decomposing!' was a particular favorite. It didn't preterb the young smith; it seemed as though nothing would, given the abuse he'd taken at the hands of his former master.

"Rest? Here? We're exposed, here! It's not safe!"
"This entire road is exposed, as far as the fork to the Orange road, at least." Wellin said, contesting the point. Shamus' arms flapped.
"So, you ditherbrained metalworking mothers boy, we need to find an inn."
"There's a problem with that..." Tor said, chipping into the arguement, half to stop the bickering, half to point out the obvious. "We don't have any money."

Shamus suddenly paused, realising that it was true. He furrowed his brow. He didn't want the others to know, but he still had about ten gold pieces, though that was hardly enough for a room, more like enough for a few drinks once the others had gone to bed. The drinking was, for him, the main lure of the inn. He couldn't care less about exposure.
"So we get some, then." he said, simply.
"Ruugghghghh!"
"Right, Mungo. We do it old school. Bow and bash. Works like a charm."
"We can't do that!" Tor protested, suddenly on his feet.
"Oh? Why not?"
"Principle." Tor said, firmly.
"I'm with him. I'm no bandit." Wellin agreed. Shamus looked in disgust, and made a disgruntled whistle.
"Right. You two, stay there. I'm going to get us some money."
"How?" Tor asked.
"Not by robbing." Shamus reassured, shaking his head, before tapping Mungo and walking off, wiping his hand where his palm had sunk a little into Mungo's flesh.

It took him three hours to come back. By that time Tor and Wellin knew pretty much everything there was about each other; not that Wellin had much to say. Both of them didn't trust Shamus, but neither knew quite how to shake him. It was with mixed feelings, then, when the bandit cast down a purse of two hundred septims.
"Gold. Nice, lovely, spendy, gold. So lets get going." Shamus said, beaming with pleasure. He didn't mention that was only 70% of what he'd taken. It was going to be more than enough to get accomodation on their journey, whereever that may be. He didn't know why Tor hadn't told him, but the bells had more than sentimental value. There was money in this, and he wasn't going to go short. Tor looked at the purse.
"Where did you..." he began to ask, slowly. Shamus looked at him, level and straight.
"I didn't steal it, before you ask." he said, grabbing his travelling sack and kicking dirt into the fire the two boys had made. "So come on, let's go."
Tor wasn't convinced. "If you didn't steal it, then..."
"How did I get it?" Shamus asked, purse lipped. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Wellin draw a hammer, and turned to him, winking slightly. The hammer went back into the belt.
"Yes. How?"
Shamus laughed. "Honestly? Found it! Hahahahaah!" He laughed, loudly, with unremitant glee. Tor and Wellin looked at each other.
"You found...how much is that?" Wellin asked.
"Two hundred Septims. And yes, you hammer-handed backward brain booger, I found it. Not all of it at once. I found ten there, twenty there. It's easy to find if you know where to look." He laughed once more.
"I don't believe you." Wellin said, standing. If it were that easy, why did he take up banditry? Wasn't it easier to just go money hunting?
"Didn't ask you to." Shamus said, curtly, before beginning to walk off.

The other two looked at each other. They didn't believe him, but what option did they have? They needed the money, and an inn, a real bed, was longed for by both. Reluctantly, they picked up their belongings and headed off.

The ironic thing was that, in Shamus' mind, he'd told the truth. It was amazing, he mused, as he led the way down the road, how easy it was to find money. When Mungo was standing on the road, people generally dropped whatever they had, money belts and belongings, and ran away as fast as they could. All he'd had to do was walk up and collect the lost property. It made him wonder why he'd spent the first twenty eight years of his life without a zombie companion...

Prt 8

Wellin lay in the bed, resting far better than he thought he had any right to. He was asleep, it was true, and yet somehow he could think. He had no idea how that worked, but then again he didn't want to either. He should keep thinking to a minimum. He'd just quit his job, left Bruma, the only home he'd ever known, and taken up with a Breton, a bandit, and a zombie. He needed a mage to examine his head.

Still, the dream was pleasing enough, lying as he was on the comfortable straw matress and the feathered pillow. The others were about, too. Mungo was tethered to a tree by a rope a few hundred metres away from the inn, out of sight of the road. Tor was probably in the bed across the way, and Shamus probably still downstairs drinking with the other patrons of the pub. There wern't many. The inn was isolated, and there were few travellers on the road, especially at this time of year. The only other occupants of the inn were the odd merchant, and a noblewoman, who seemed to be wearing some kind of turban, and was flanked by two impressivly armoured personal guards, bearing her family crest across their chests.

He allowed his mind to drift away from it. He allowed it to even drift away from Bruma, because he didn't want to think about the idea of making a mistake. Now the boss was probably sobering up, hunting to find someone else to actually work the forge and produce goods that bore her stamp. SOme other stooge. Had he made a mistake? He doubted it. It was funny, even in the dream he could smell the smoke rise from the forge, feel the heat of the furnace...

His eyes snapped open. The entire room was clouded in smoke, choking black curls flooding the room, obscuring his vision. At first he didn't know what to do, if it was another level of dream, but then it filled his lungs and began to strangle him with it's vapours, and he caught sight of the violent flames leaping across the wooden beams above. He was out of bed immediatly, grasping his clothes and throwing them on as he staggered out of the room. Tor wasn't inside; nor was Shamus. Somehow he was able to feel his way along the corridor, keeping low to avoid the crackling fire raging around him, and to keep his nostrils out of the clouds. The heat seared every breath, as though he was sucking in hot mugs of soup, and that, combined with his fright at the sound of creaking timbers giving way, made him decide on a desperate action. Running straight, he charged out of the first floor window.

He flew for what seemed an age, before he landed, hard, on the ground. The shock of the impact and the pain of his arm, crushed under his jump, was nothing compared to his startled fright. He ignored the cuts of the glass shards to spiral around and look. The inn was gutted; it was nothing but a blazing inferno where a building had once been. Around him there was nothing but sound. Horses in the stable braying, cries of pain and angish, scrabbling crawls of desperation, shouts of worry. He turned and rose from the ground, witnessing the sight in front of him.

Tor was there, slumped against a tree stump, collapsed in exhaustion, flat on his back, his sword resting upright from where he had somehow managed to fork an assassin. The other figure, dressed all in a cloaked blue, was decidedly dead from the wound Tor had delivered. He wasn't the only one. The noblewoman was glarind around in upset desperation, her eyes welling though not overflowing with tears as she knelt over the bodies of her two guards, both dead on the verge. And through it all, staggering with a nasty cut on his forehead, still with a lingering taint of alcohol, was Shamus.

He crept over to help Tor up, before suddenly pausing. Wellin watched as Shamus caught sight of the dead assassin. He looked at the clothes, the robe, the symbol on the back, marred with blood and the sword. Then he rose and straightened up, drawing his bow with all his might and levelling an arrow straight at Tor's head, any effort of concern vanishing instantly. His eyes gleamed with anger; burning, annoyed anger. His bow string trembled.
"What," he spat with little more than pure anger, "in the name of all the Nine, does the Blue Ring Tryst want with you?"

I really like the humor that Shamus and Mungo add to the story, it keeps each part fresh and entertaining. Also the way that the plot has now begun to thicken a bit, with the seemingly infamous group of assassins attacking. Anyways I really like this story, its well written and interesting. Continue when you can, as I enjoy it very much.

Prt 9

"Who are the Blue Ring Tryst?" Wellin asked, looking at the strange scene in front of him, the effects of his fall finally taking hold and causing parts of his body to ache. Next to him, the noblewoman had stopped her tears, and had begun to look at the group. Tor didn't move. Wellin could make out beads of sweat silhuetted against the fires still raging in the inn.
"Who are the..." Shamus began, turning his head slightly but never taking his eyes from Tor, or his bow from it's ready position. "I'll tell you, my little hammer-beating anvil monkey, who they are. The Blue Ring Tryst are the kind of people that you don't want to cross. They're legends. They're not even supposed to exist, you know? Kind of that cross between myth and reality, those knives in the night that you tell kids to keep 'em scared in tucked firmly in their beds. They're nightmares. That's who they are." He finished his rant and turned back to Tor, pointing his arrow and raising his voice. "Well? What do they want? Answer me!"

Tor shook slightly, the colour again drained from his face. His eyes looked to the sword, but it was too far away. Shamus could kill him in an instant, and from the uncompromising look in his eyes, he was perfectly willing to do so.
"Bregale." Tor said, finally. "I know where Bregale is."

Shamus loosed an arrow. It flew through the air with sweeping venom, before twanging violently into the tree stump. The bandit threw down his bow in anger.
"Bregale! That's what this is about!" He screamed, lunging forward, his arms raised. Suddenly he'd grabbed Tor up, and was shaking him violently, as though he were a helpless manniquin. "This is where we're going? To the village of the damned!"
"Wha..." Tor began, before suddenly finding himself on the floor again, in a crumpled heap. "I...don't know. I don't know what's there, it's..."
"Of course you don't know!" Shamus screamed, his arms flapping. "Or you'd never have set out! Bregale has been lost for two hundred years, and good riddence if it keeps THEM off your back!"

The air was full of tension. Shamus paced violently, shaking his head, unsure what he should do. Tor lay and watched in amazement. He too, didn't know what to say. He knew nothing about why he was going, just that it seemed to be his family right. Then Wellin spoke, a quiet voice of reason.
"What's this about?" he asked. Shamus turned, and looked at him, a snarl on his lips.
"It's about a blood feud, that's what. Two hundred years ago there was a count called Olaf Grunweld. This guy decided it was in the best intrests of his community to mine the silver nearby, and found out that the largest deposits were on the land of his neighbour, Lord Dorian. Legend goes, and how you never heard this one it escapes me, considering it's told up and down Cyrodiil, that the site of the deposite was on the village of Bregale, which was hidden somewhere, how nobody knows. Grunweld found it somehow, formed a group, the Blue Ring Tryst, to force the inhabitants out. They succeeded, mainly by butchering the residents. Dorian tried to stop them, but Grunweld had made sure the deed to Bregale, the rights to the land, had gone missing, and he used a few well placed bribes to make the land his. With the loss of Bregale, the Dorians swore revenge. They stormed Castle Leetcher, the seat of the Grunweld's, and butchered the entire family. Unfortunatly, Lord Dorian died during the storming, and only he outside the village knew where Bregale was."
"So...Grunweld crossed Dorian, Dorian killed Grunweld to avenge the loss of the lives of his villagers?" Tor asked. Shamus looked at him once more.
"Basically. Thing is, that left the Blue Ring Tryst with nothing to do. A group who had sworn allegiance to their liege now didn't have one - what they had was the location of the Bregale silver mine. Now legend says they kill anyone who threatens their riches, and have sworn to extinguish the entire Dorian line from existance. What I can't understand," Shamus said, "was what this has to do with you."

Tor stood up, and showed him the necklace once more.
"Eight keys for eight locks, each one a bell,
Seven songs of fairness, one trembling death knell,
Open the Serpent, shift the wake, push forward to Bregale,
Slide the door as dark as night, do not heed the hail,
Eight bells to lift it high, eight to riches and glory,
Eight to purge the Blue Ring Tryst and end their dreadful story."

Shamus looked at him. "Ahh." he said.
"What?"
"That's the other bit of the legend, isn't it? That the deed to Bregale wasn't lost at all, but it was hidden by one of the villagers somewhere. The Dorian's put a bounty on the location of Bregale, as you would if you'd lost a silver mine, of fifty thousand septims - Fifty thousand! That's enough to buy a fully furnished house in Chorrol, or one of the more...snooty...towns. " The bandit's eyes gleamed, his anger diminishing as he thought of the gold. "And you have the location, do you?"
"I saw a map." Tor admitted. "So roughly."
"Where?"
Tor paused. "I...won't say."
Shamus' eyes narrowed, but then, tilting his head, he backed away. "Alright then. You keep your secrets." he said, his voice strangely calm considering the taste of gold on his lips.

Wellin walked over. "So, we know the location of a silver mine, guarded by a group of psychotic assassins?" he asked. Shamus nodded.
"It seems that way. I never knew." Tor said, wistfully. Suddenly it all made sense. He was a descendant of one of Bregale's villagers, and he alone held the key to the deed.
"I... don't get it." Wellin said.
"Don't get what? The chance for gold?" Shamus snapped.
"No... why they didn't just kill your family earlier. I mean, if they knew where you were, and from what you've told me it sounds likely, then why not move sooner, take your necklace?"
"We only just found the location of Bregale." Tor said, realising the awful events that had caused the deaths of his loved ones. "They didn't need to move on us - why draw attention? So they just waited, in case we did find out something. Then we forced their hand."

Slowly, a tear formed. If it hadn't been for his mother's intrest in an old family legend, then it would never have happened. They'd all be alive still, enjoying life on the coast of High Rock. He'd rather have them back than fifty thousand septims.

"Uh..." Wellin coughed, once more.
"What?" Shamus asked, snapping at him.
"One more thing. How did the...the Blue Ring Tryst? How did they know we were here?" he asked.

"They didn't." Came a voice from behind. Sweet and feminine, with a strong, determined quality. They all turned to look at the noblewoman, her young face pale, her eyes deep and mournful. "They were here to kill me. I am Kiera Dorian."

"Monsters you...urgh...dispatched with a certain flair, innit?"
____________

LOL!!! This bandit, he's a little bit - wurrrr - a little bit - woooah - yeah?

We ain't seen him, right?

Not exactly sure what you mean by that but the bandit is awesome.

Anyways great update Foster, the twist near the end was very unexpected and I can't wait to see how this story further plays out, as I've said this story is very interesting so please continue soon.

Prt 10

"So, what do we do?" Wellin asked, to nobody in particular. The sun had already risen on the smouldering remains of the inn, and, despite Shamus' insistance that they really should get going, they'd stayed to at least make an attempt at burying the dead - or at least, they had managed to instruct Mungo to do so, though he'd had a distasteful nibble at the remains. As much as it was detestable to him, Tor knew the road was dangerous, and had helped himself to the armour of Lady Dorian's bodyguards. It had taken Wellin only a few moments to reshape it so that it would fit comfortably, and he was reassured at least that he now wasn't completely vulnerable in his furs.

By the time the sun had risen, painting the sky in a gloriously gleaming mix of brilliant yellow and gold, they were far away. Already Tor could see that Shamus was getting fed up of the female company. Obviously used to getting things her way, she had already begun to make demands on how the rest of them should behave, which had ended with him telling her frankly exactly what she could do with her breeding. Tor and Wellin remained an appreciable distance back to let the fireworks flow.

"And another thing," Kiera began, "you shouldn't chew with your mouth open. I watched you all through breakfast. It's disgusting."
"Well, I couldn't care less what you think, her-who-wipes-her-buttocks-with-silk."
"I'm hardly unfamiliar with discomfort! I spent three days in the Imperial dungeon once!"
"What for? Noise pollution? The rate you whinge I'm suprised they didn't muzzle you as well."
"Urrrgh."
"You said it, Mungo." Shamus said, nodding at his zombie.
"And must you keep that...abomination with you?"
"Mungo, I think she wants a hug."
"Aaarrgh! Get it off me! Get it off me!"
"Hahahahaha. Oh, but he likes you!"

By mid-afternoon, when they had decided once more to stop again under the shelter of a sprawling oak, Tor and Wellin were getting a little tired of it. They hadn't ceased. In fact, they were both amazed that their voices wern't hoarse.
"Don't make groin movements at me. It's vile."
"I was sitting on a mushroom, I just shifted forward! No way I'd make groin...what's a groin?"
"Your, ugh, I refuse to lose my dignity over this conversation."
"Fine."
"Fine."
"Good."
"Be quiet."
"Why are you wearing a turban?"
"Why is that any of your concern?"
"Take it off."
"How dare you command me!"
"Take it off or Mungo will."
"Leave her alone." Tor interuptted. Shamus looked at him.
"I just think, seeing as how she's basically nominated herself to come with us, especially considering that she seems to be the reason we were attacked last night, that she should be completely honest with us. Reveal any little secrets she's hiding. That's all, ay?" Shamus said, pulling out a knife from somewhere, and using it to give himself a rough shave.
"I'd like to know too." Wellins said, his voice slightly muted. Tor, as much has he wanted to resist the urge, was also curious. It wasn't often you saw a lady, especially a young and not unattrative one, wearing a turban. Kiera looked at them all for a moment, a fierce definance in her eyes. Then she bowed to peer pressure and removed it.

Shamus and Wellin burst out laughing. Only Tor remained quiet, although he was curious as to why exactly she had green hair.
"I did it for a very good reason." She said firmly, before turning to eat her dinner, at all times keeping her pinky extended and fingers in a dainty, lady-like position. As much as she was a rebel, some things had been taught that they came instinctivly. And she was regretting the whole hair debacle, especially given the company she was now forced to keep.

WHAHAHA! That was just funny. Getting hugged by a zombie! Loved the update, please keep them coming.

I really like the way that you've managed to weave several characters from your short stories into a continuing story. The main comic relief of this story appears to come from the sleazy yet funny Shamus and the lumbering zombie Mungo while the other characters build the plot of the story and keep things moving. The combination makes this a good read and I can't wait for the next part.

Keep it up and have yourself a cake.

I have read your story to this point and I must say you're a very good writer. You weave comedy with serious action with great skill and the dialogues are just great. You know who Shamus reminds me off? Jack Sparrow (played by Johny Depp) from Pirates of Carribean. Great characters, great story. I presume Edin the Stupid will make an apearrance too right? Everybody has, even that noblewoman is from "Cells and Mothers" and Wellin is from "The Nord Army Hammer".

I knew there was someone that his actions and dialogue reminded me of but I couldn't remember who until you mentioned it.

Old Jack Sparrow did have a little alcohol in him at all times and he acts much like Shamus, rude with the ladies and pretty funy overall.

Prt 11

The best, no, probably only way that Tor and Wellin had found to keep their group moving was to perform continual figure of eights. Wellin would walk up front with Shamus for a while whilst Tor kept Kiera company, mostly trying to avoid the subject of her hair and keep the conversation as polite and court-like as he could, before Wellin would grow tired of Shamus' "travelling tips" (such as 'beware any troll that is wearing pants', and 'in battle, never moon your opponent'), and sink back to make a threesome. Then Shamus would start to drift back too, making comments about how the group needed to keep moving and that they were holding everything up, before Tor would reluctantly move forward. He would then be forced to listen to Shamus' tips ('if you want to move forward, it's best to walk with your left leg first, followed by your right. The other way works too.', and 'all women are born evil, and should have -5 penalties to personality, if you can measure personality that is'), whilst Wellin and Kiera walked in silence. Then, sensing Kiera was uncomfortable with Wellin (who mostly passed time playing with his hammer, or opening his mouth as if it say something before snapping it closed), Tor would sink back. Shamus would then head back, and the process would repeat itself. Mungo spent most of his time wondering behind Shamus, much as a dutiful pet would.

After three days, they'd passed along the Red Ring Road, mostly without incident. There had been a few skeletons at Fort Ash that had forrayed out to greet them, but the real danger lay at Vilverin. Shamus insisted that they'd all avoid the Ayelid ruin by leaving the road and going through the woods. They all had little doubt as to why; it could only be insider knowledge of another bandit group.

By night, the conversations were relativly muted. Tor, for the most part, told them little of how his family found itself in High Rock, mainly because he didn't know himself. It was now obvious to him that his family must have fled from Bregale, and settled somewhere they believed themselves safe. After that his history was blissfully devoid of any kind of disturbance. Wellin, too, seemed to have little to say. He'd lived his life without even considering the possibility of walking the roads, though always the possibility of leaving his mistress, and now that he had he wasn't sure if he regretted the situation. He didn't even know if he wanted his share of the gold. Was it really worth the trouble? He just wanted his own shop, where he could work in peace without threat or admiration, where he could spend his days working for boastful adventurers and listening to the jokes that sent the ambiance lifting high into the roof beams at the local tavern.

Kiera, too, began to stop saying too many things, though every other sentence let out a secret that perhaps she wanted to hold on to. A noblewoman of the Dorian family, her mother had been perhaps overprotective, preventing her leave the castle grounds for fear of the Blue Ring Tryst. She had, not realising the danger, become rather masterful at sneaking past the guards and climbing out of the castle, down to the courtyard. There she'd met Borrin, whom, as far as the three men could tell, she'd had some kind of romantic relationship. Whenever the subject was broached, Shamus always made a few lewd comments, which stopped her from continuing and resulted in a look of shocked indignation. Other than that, Kiera was a mystery. She'd dyed her hair after her mother had found Borrin, and dismissed him from service. As a punishment, she'd spent three days in the imperial dungeon, and had been heading home with two of the family guard when the assassins had struck.

It had been the first time in her life that she had needed to fear for anything, and she had little wish to repeat it. At night, when the others had fallen to sleep either under inn roof or stars, she always remained awake, shivering with cold. Not because her underdeveloped muscles or fine, porcelain and lady-like complection was particuarly susceptible (though it was, truth be told). But from fear that it could happen again. That was why she was coming with them. She had to see it end.

Shamus was perhaps the most forthcoming of the group. Any aspect of his life was a topic of conversation, at any time, and usually in the most coarse of languages. It all fell on deaf ears. Nobody really wanted to know about his past, or why he seemed to know so much about the road. At that, he couldn't help but smile. All the better for him, then, that they didn't know. Each night, although Kiera probably thought he was asleep, he'd keep an eye on her. Since the attack he'd not tied Mungo, trusting him to watch their camp, and the thoughts that passed through his mind were usually of gold, jewels, and the shine of a Septim piece. They wern't too far from Morrowind. Maybe he could ship them into slavery, if he could find the trade still. They'd fetch a good price, and the Dorians would pay even more for the return of their daughter. Then he could go and get himself his own silver mine. Never mind the fifty-thousand septims - he could have five hundred thousand within a few years.

It was thoughts like this that kept him smiling. It was the fact that, for some reason, he knew he wouldn't do any of them that made him scowl. It didn't matter. They were little more than a day away from Bravil. From there, it was off into the wilderness to find the road to Bregale.

Nice, very nice. You've brought history and thoughts together. I like it.

Another excellent instalment. You are developing the characters very well and have a very good way with comedy. Please continue.....

This part held a little more information about all the character's pasts (well besides Shamus since people only half listen to his ramblings) and more clues as to where they may be going. I thought before the end of the post that Shamus actually planned to go through with his thoughts of selling them into slavery and plotting other things as well but with the last few words I don't think he will.

Then again it is hard to predict someone that is out for money and who has had a past at being a bandit. Great update, keep up the good work.

Holy muffin.... a horde of updates.....AHHH I give up! I can´t keep up with all as much as I wish....

Itá amazing...so many good writers, updating like ravishing maniacs.....ohhh.....


*stands just panting from exhaustion from trying to read ´em all before another one posts an update!*

A very interesting update. Your story is very likeable and easy to read. I also liked the way Tor and Wellin kept the group safe from bickering. And give Mungo more notices will you? Even though he's dead he's still a loveable lump (of rotten flesh).

Prt 12

"And how are we this morning, sweet cheeks?" Shamus said, sidling far too close to Kiera for her comfort, sitting down with impunity between her and Wellin, and nudging up closely. She looked at him in disgust and shuffled away.
"You should not address me as much." She replied, her eyes glowing in annoyance. Wellin opened his mouth like a fish again, as if to say something, but he really didn't know what. He couldn't stop Shamus, especially because of Mungo. The last time he'd said something he'd found himself chased around a tree by a staggering lump of meat. Mungo was Shamus' secret weapon, and, despite the fact that he had begun to turn a sickly yellow pallour, he hadn't decomposed too much.

They were waiting outside of Bravil, mainly at the suggestion of Tor and Shamus. They had both come to the conclusion that drawing attention to themselves was a bad thing, and that they should keep Kiera as far from the city as possible. Kiera, although she'd protested, deep down knew this to be sensible. The Blue Ring Tryst would be watching the town for any sign of a Dorian, and you could never tell where their eyes viewed from. she remembered the story of how her father had to slay one of his own guards once, and how her mother almost died when cleaners had come to drain the septic tank, and one of them had been armed with a crossbow. For a group that was secretive and shady, they certainly seemed to have agents everywhere.

Which is why they all rested in a leafy copse, within sight of the town and its delapidated, wooden buildings. Kiera longed for a warm fire, change of clothes, bath, decent food, fine wine, good company, a minstril, a servant, her personal maid and some fine jewellery, but she understood the danger well enough. Wellin had decided to stay more to make sure that Shamus didn't try anything. Tor had no option but to go. He needed help.

Help he found. He returned to the camp at five that evening with a small, fat man with implausibly bad dental work and a strange, ruffled toupee that seemed to slip to the side as he walked. The man had the distinct smell of easy living about him; someone who had sipped a few too many at the inn on occasion, and spent his money on suckled boar at the pie shop. Tor seemed, however, to have faith in him. Shamus did not. He almost immediatly turned his attention away from Kiera.
"Who's this?" he asked, already reaching for his bow as Tor walked in. "I thought you were only going for the essentials - arrows, swords for Wellin and Queen Lime-head here, and half a ton of healing potions to stop us all, you know, dying?"
"I got those as well." Tor said, tapping a bag. "But we need something slightly more important than that."
"Fatty here?"
"I'm not fat!" The man said, blushing. "I'm just naturally expansive."
"Whatever, fatty. Why'd you bring him?"
"I know only within a few miles where Bregale is. I saw a map, once, breifly. I know it's north of a place called Turnaround Rock. I just don't know where *that* is, so I've found a local...uhm...what did you say you did?"
"Uhm...not much, really."
"I've found a... local... who can show us where it is."
"Edin, at your service." The man said, bowly humbly, allowing his belt to expand, before rising and looking at the strange group. "My lady, sirs, uhm... creatures of the undead, I am at your service."
"Urggh." Mungo said, as if able to understand that there was now someone more meanial than he in the group.
"No!" Shamus said, rising in hostility.
"What?" Wellin asked.
"No! I'm not going to split my share! At the moment I've got 20,000 Septims, I ain't going to...uhm...divide, carry, half and...uhm... lower it to...to... uh, two sixths of fifty thousand, whatever that is."
"Sixteen thousand six hundred and sixty seven Septims." Wellin said, working it out instantly, thanking his shop experience.
"What?" Edin began, rubbing his head. They may call him the Stupid, but he suddenly realised there was more at stake about the rock than just the twenty he'd been paid.
"Why exactly do you think you get two shares?" Kiera asked, picking up on it.
"By rights." Shamus defended. "Actually, it should be more than two, seeing as how it's your damn silver mine and you shouldn't get any of the money, should you!"
"But why two shares?"
"Well, Mungo needs someone to look after his, doesn't he?"
"That foul beast does not get a share!"
"URRRRGH!"
"Calm it, Mungo. She doesn't mean offense." Shamus said, waving off the zombie that had begun to move forward, annoyed that he was considered as such.
"Silver mine?" Edin asked.

The whole copse began to flood with voices and arguements. In the end, Tor closed his eyes.
"ENOUGH!" He screamed, his body shaking a little. Silence. "Thank you." He said. "Mr Edin is not coming with us, he's just showing us where Turnabout Rock is. And he's being paid twenty septims to do it."
"The hell I am!" Edin started. "If there's more to be had, I want a fair share!"
"Then I'll go and find someone else in town!"
"Oh no! No! Edin doesn't get cut out of it this time!" The fat man began to move forward, as if to try and intimidate Tor. He got within five paces, before a sudden noise snapped through the copse.

shhhhhhffff. shhhhfffff. shffff.

The five humans and one zombie watched as Edin stopped in his tracks and looked down. Potruding through his chest where three arrows, their flights coloured with blue rings.

The entire surroundings suddenly filled with cries as the assassins fell upon them.

Oh oh, that looks like trouble. I wonder if Edin will survive this? Wait, he is naturally expansive so his fat will protect him.
Please bring on the updates.

Oh great! I was wondering when Edin will get featured, I hope he doesn't get killed though. And thanks for featuring Mungo more, although I've now realised that he's a dumb zombie and he can't say much. And by the way, Wellin is shaping up to be a very lovable character, I like the way he always wants to say something but in the end snaps his mouth shut. Adorable! Keep up the Great Work!

Hmmm...interesting to see Eden make an appearance though it appears as though it might have been a short one.

The assassins strike again but our heroes have a good team there and they should be able to take them on well enough, with Tor, Shamus, Mungo, and Wellin(assuming he's armed) things should be alright for them.

Oh and Griff, I think that the simplicity of Mungo is what makes his character so amusing in the first place man, if he played a more important role than a servant to Shamus, it would distract from why he's there in the first place, muscle and comic relief.

Anyways that was a very good update Foster, please give us another soon.

Part 13

Every single bush seemed to come alive at once with noise or motion. By the time that Edin had hit the floor the assassins were within the copse itself, charging forward with swords drawn and intent in their eyes. They were all masked, wearing a twisted metal faceplate that made their faces seem to be a shifting maze of burning hate, though they were unarmoured, instead wearing sweeping robes. Tor had Belwyn's sword drawn almost instantly, and as he swung the blade through the midriff of the closest assassin he realised why. The flowing robe made it hard to keep the motion of the blade going - it was easy to get caught up in the material. That and he couldn't actually tell where solid body began - his sweep had hit nothing but cloth and air.

Shamus had no such problem. As the first arrow hit he already had an arrow resting on his bow, and managed to loose two arrows off within the first five seconds, one in either direction, both hitting home and causing an assailant to drop in a spray of crimson that smeared their blue robes. He spun around, quickly trying to appraise the situation, trusting on his tried and honed skills to keep him safe as he made towards the centre of the copse with his feet. Instinct was that the group together would survive. He just hoped that everyone else knew it.

Mungo too was in the thick of fighting. Already he had taken four seperate blows, he even had a dagger sticking into his thigh, but the three assassins that had decided to concentrate on him were fighting a losing battle. The giant of a zombie had already grasped one of them by the neck, raising them up like a squirming ragdoll as he sunk his teeth into their bracial artery, causing their life blood to shoot from the wound. In the other hand he pulled out the dagger and began to swing it in wide circles, hoping to hit anything. The first assassin wisely ducked; the second caught it in the back of the head, crumpling to the floor.

Already the fight was looking bad for Tor. He wasn't used to fighting in armour, or against more than one opponent, and now three had surrounded him, including the one with the ripped and shredded robe. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what to do, before making an impromptu splits manouvre to avoid two thrusts coming simultaniously. The blades sailed harmlessly above as he swung his sword viciously, sinking through three legs, causing two of the assailants to go tumbling down. Then he realised his mistake. The splits, as well as being painful, was also impossible to get up from quickly normally. In armour, it wasn't possible. He could swing forward, but not back, and could hear the final assassin circle around, realising his luck. Tor swallowed hard, his body shaking as he realised it was the end.

The blow never came. When the attack began Wellin's first instinct had been to run and hide, but somehow he'd resisted the urge, and instead tried to think of what to do. The most rational plan was to go for the weapons that Tor had been carrying from Brevil, but no sooner had he made his choice, Tor had been surrounded. It was only when Tor did his unusual move that Wellin saw the final assassin's attention was lost, and, grabbing the initiative, he decided to use the nord army hammer to it's full extent. He'd had to make three hits to get the man down - one with the hammer, one with the nail file (accidentally) and one with the blade - but it had done the job. He then proceeded to pummel the man for all he was worth, caught up in the fever of battle.

In the centre, Shamus had long stopped using his bow, realising that there were just too many of them. Deftly he'd managed to turn his body to throw one over the top, causing his opponent to roll over to Mungo, who happily jumped on him with all of his might. Drawing his dagger, Shamus turned to the others. There were only three left. The first he dispatched with ease, but then he saw the third make it's way towards the helpless Kiera, who had spent the entire battle screaming for her life. His eyes flashed with worry. Kiera was prone, helpless, and afraid. Her arms were held up to sheild her from the fatal blow only moments away, and her eyes were wide with terror. Shamus charged, shoving aside the second assassin, who managed to slash his dagger down hard, causing a gaping gash to cut down Shamus' shoulder and into his side. The bandit ignored the pain. His sole thought was on Kiera, the feet that seperated them, the poised dagger of the bandit, the terror in her eyes, and his desire to protect her. He lept.

Tor was on his feet to see it. Shamus had moved faster than any man he'd seen, and somehow managed to throw his dagger in midair. It hit the assassin full in his metal face plate. With it's hilt. The assassin paused from the strike, bewildered, and watched as Shamus fell to the ground. From under the mask he smiled, as he turned back to Kiera, only to be struck down in turn. Kiera had seized the dagger when it fell, and pushed it up into the assassin's abdomen, ending the threat.

The final assassin was now standing, unsure of his position. Tor moved towards him. The assassin, as if in definace, removed the mask and walked forward, his blade still dripping with Shamus' blood. Tor swung. And missed. The assassin drove foward, laughing as he brought his blade against the armour, causing a grating sound and sparks to fly against the breastplate. Tor swung again, clipping the assailant in the arm.

The assassin scowled, turned, and ran.

The clearing was a wreak. Blood and bodies, the dying and the dead, lay strewn everywhere. Only five remained on their feet - four alive, one undead. Three alive and on their feet. Shamus sunk to the ground, his wounds aching. Two alive and on their feet. Tor collapsed from exhaustion. One alive and on their feet as Kiera bent down to look at Shamus' injury.

Only Wellin remained standing, looking at the scene of devestation and Mungo, happily chewing on an assassin's severed foot. He tried to think of something pithe to say, but words escaped him.

No wonder Shamus never tries to help anyone else, things like this always happen to the ones that look after others before themselves, he seems to be pretty good at fighting, the others could probably learn something from him.

Shamus finally shows some emotion and Wellin's actions surprised me, I took him for a runner, we get to see more of Mungo's brute strength, and another good clash with Tor all in one update.

There's a little something for everyone here, funny, dramatic, and interesting at the same time, this story is a must read for me. Very nice, update soon.

I agree, this story is much like a comic made with Garry's Mod for Half Life 2. It has humour, adventure, combat and great contrasting characters. A party of people that don't quite like eachother have very interesting chemistry. Too bad Edin died, he will be missed.

I'm hooked!! First thing I check on these boards now is the Fan Fic. This is a terrific story, great pace, wit, insight.

Prt 14

"He's dead." Wellin said, pretty sure. He hadn't been unlucky enough to see too many dead bodies in his time, but he did know the axim 'you're not dead until you're warm and dead', which his local healer seemed to live by. Edin wasn't warm yet, but the fact that three arrows stuck inside him, his eyes were cloudy and glazed and he wasn't breathing made it obvious.
"Great." Shamus groaned, drinking the potion gladly and sitting up in the arms of Kiera, before looking at her and flailing an arm to brush her aside. "Gerroff, I don't need a nurse."

Kiera obliged without comment, rising and walking over to where Tor remained, panting. He still hadn't fully collected his breath, and it was remarkable in his mind that he was even alive. The armour certainly had helped, but every muscle in his body ached with fatigue. He wasn't accustomed to using such equipment, even if it had saved his life.
"What do we do now?" She asked, looking to him for some leadership, before looking at her own appearance and frowning. She was covered in dirt and blood, and found the sight rather uncomely.
"Well..." Tor began, thinking for a moment. "We're safe for the moment, they don't know they failed. But we need to move out. We're close."
"Yes," Kiera agreed, "but move where? My family lands are only four miles away, we could be at the castle by nightfall, and there we could..."
"There we'd never get anything done." Shamus said, finally composing himself enough to stand, and spend his time walking about the sight, kicking bodies and retreiving his arrows, and anything else he could find of use. "We need to move out now. Your castle will have a watch on it. They'd just sweep in and ambush us again - only this time they'd do it right."
"He's right." Tor agreed, watching the distasteful sight of Shamus scooping up spare gold from the assassins. He decided to let it slide. The assassins didn't need it.
"There is still one problem." Wellin said quietly, looking at the new sword he had recieved from Tor. "We don't know where Turnabout rock is."

The others paused, their morale sunk. Tor licked his lips for a moment, parched from the combat.
"I could always go back into Brevil..."
"No good." Shamus interuppted. "How do you think they knew where to find us? Spies on the gate, no doubt."
"So..."
Wellin furrowed his brow and thought about it. Even Kiera, who seemed to hold herself in perfect composure at all times, scratched her cheek in thought. Only Shamus seemed unphased, though obviously he thought the idea could wait until he'd finished his looting. Finally he walked over, testing out a new bow he'd picked up from one of the Blue Ring assassins. It was better than his old one, and lighter, too. He looked up and smiled.
"We don't need to know where Turnabout Rock is." he said, grabbing hold of Tor's sword and lifting it up. Tor watched as the former(?) bandit wiped the blade with a cloth, before walking over to Mungo and waving it under the zombie's nose.
"Fetch." he said. Mungo looked at him, obviously content after his feast of assassin limb.
"Urggh?"
"Fetch. As in...find. Find the scent...follow the scent... in the name of Alessia, what use are you as a zombie if you can't hunt on scent?"

Mungo finally got the idea, and set off at pace. The others turned, impressed at the ingenuity of Shamus, and followed.

Three hours later they found it. Turnabout Rock was a large monument of granite, carved into an hourglass with a twisting, turning pattern around it that spiralled up to the top, before forming a gleaming, carved top of a snake head. They all stopped at stared at it.
"Impressive. I never knew this were on my lands." Kiera said, looking at it and nodding, as if contemplating the meaning. "The piece is clearly that of a master... behold the smooth strokes of the chisel, and also the meaning, no doubt an allagorical contemplation of the divinity of nature throttled by the presence of humanity."
"More like someone with a snake fetish and too many spare weekends." Shamus said. "Besides, we're not on your land."
"How would you know?" Kiera asked, turning to look at him. She was confident that she knew her own boundries far better than some bandit.
"Because we crossed the border into Elsweyr half a mile ago. Red rock markers - suprised you didn't notice 'em."
"Oh." Kiera conceeded.
"They must have moved the provincial boundries in the last two hundred years. Just a little." Wellin sumised.
"I don't think so..." Tor began, walking around slowly, looking at the ornately carved rock. "I think... this is why Bregale was never found."
"Care to explain?" Shamus asked.
"Bregale is in the Imperial province... the entrance to it is not." he said.
"Entrance? I thought this was a marker."
"I thought so too. But... 'open the serpent' would mean..." he walked forward, sliding his hands over the rock, searching. Finally he found a loose rock, so carefully put by the masterful artist that it's existance was concealed. He pushed it, and suddenly the entire rock began to twist. The companions looked astonished as a passage downwards materialised.

They looked at each other and smiled. Wellin took a step forward, only to have Tor hold a hand out.
"Wait." he said. "It might be booby trapped." They all stopped for a moment, peering into the darkness.
"One way to find out." Shamus decided, walking forward and kicking Kiera hard on her backside. Screaming, she fell headfirst into the passage. From below the scream continued, before ending with a thud, and a torrent of unrestrained anger, annoyance, and language that even the bandit would have been proud of. "Guess it's not." he decided, walking after her.

He looked at the other two, who both stared at him in amazement.
"What?" he asked. "You never heard of ladies first?"

Great fun! I laughed my boat off when I heard the ladies first line. If I were Tor I would hit that damn bandit with the hilt of my sword in that very moment. But anyway, the story is geting more and more adventurous. They did go a long way. From Bruma to Elsweyr. That's alot of distance to cover. Keep up the great work, I enjoy it whenever I read the adventures of your small party.

Shamus is smarter than he seems at first. And I can see a romance developing. Throwing her down the stairs is just Shamus's way of saying:,, I like you."
Ok, maybe his social skills are a bit rusty.

Prt 15

"How far do you think this goes?" Tor asked, leading through the tightly twisting passageways, looking at the glow of the torchlight as it reflected upon the surface of the cave, causing the rock to glisten and shimmer where it was damp. Behind him Kiera walked, her arms tucked tightly into her chest to avoid touching anything unpleasant. She was already in some discomfort after being uncerimoniously booted, though in truth she wasn't injured. It was more the indignity of what had happened that made her lash out at Shamus when he had come down, hitting him with frustrated, limp attacks in a constant, continual motion. He'd let her, laughing it off before passing her a healing potion when nobody had noticed. Wellin had tried to fight him over it, but had quickly backed down when Mungo made it apparent whose side he was on. Now the five made their way through the cave system, underground, unsure.
"Who knows." Shamus said, looking into the pitch black up ahead. "could be metres, could be miles."

The mood in the group was, overall, one of apprehension. Everyone had tight stomach muscles as they thought of what could lunge out from th dark, and everyone was on guard for any possibility. Nervous thoughts caused their breathing to be sharp and their hands to quiver, which only made things worse as the torchlight flickered violently. After half an hour of walking they were nowhere nearer the end of the road; at least, no nearer than any of them could tell. After an hour they were beginning to believe that the passage never ended, and it was probably after an hour and a half that Wellin began to get nervous, wondering about the strength of the ceiling and what would happen if it were to cave in. It wasn't the only thing he wondered about, he just didn't know how to say it.

After two hours they first heard the sound, echoing violently in a swirling, swishing sound that hissed in their ears, but it took another fifteen minutes to find the source. They emerged in a circular cavern, open and wide, with a violent stream rushing past them. Even in the dark light of the cavern they should see the foam and strength of the current. Each member looked at it with apprehension.
"It's loud." Kiera said, shouting above the noise. Tor turned and nodded.
"I think it must be the Larsius, maybe the source of it." he said, over the din that filled the air. If he was right from his geography, that meant they had gone even further into Elsweyr, though in truth he was finding it hard to think. The noise was distracting, and above it Mungo had started to groan, as if in pain from the racket.
"What should we do?"
"What?"
"What should we do?"
"Uh..." Tor said, closing his eyes to try and remember the phrase. Open the serpent, shift the wake, onward to Bregale... "there has to be some kind of lever!"
"What?"
"Lever! Turn handle! Crank!" He screamed, motioning with his arms. Mungo watched him, and then begun to spin around. Wellin heard, and began to look. In the far corner of the cave, outside of the flickering torchlight, there was a switch. He pulled it.

The cave filled with a different noise, as a dam swung up out of the floor. One side of the river raged against it, the other became a calm trickle. The noise lost some of it's intensity, but not enough. Tor smiled.
"Shift the wake." he said. Shamus didn't hear, but didn't care. Within thirty seconds they had all begun to wade across. Then, as if on a time delay, the dam dropped down again, returning the underground stream to it's usual path.
"Onward to Bregale?" Tor asked.

Half an hour later they were in another cavern, this time resting. They were all tired through their subterrainian trek, and were glad that the noise of the Larsius had died down in their ears. Tor and Shamus took the time to check their weapons. Wellin decided on a different use. He rose up, and moved across to Kiera.
"Lady..uh... Dorian." He began. She looked up at him with her beautfiul eyes, and smiled.
"Yes, Wellin?"
"Uh...can I ask you something." he said, sitting down next to her.
"You may ask."
"Uh... your family estate is here, yes?"
"Yes."
"And...uhm...you said you and your guards were returning from you being in the Imperial dungeon?" The moment he said it, he winced as if in pain, or broaching a taboo subject. Kiera nodded.
"That is true." she said.
"Well," he furrowed his brow, "how come you were on the road from Bruma?"

Kiera paused, sucking in her breath and closing her eyes. She nodded.
"Yes, I can see how that could require an explaination."
"I was just..."
"No." She said, raising a hand to keep him quiet. "Do not tell this to your companions, however. Especially that filthy, disgusting degenerate and his walking corpse."
"Of course." Wellin said, having decided that if they hadn't thought of it, they didn't need to know.
"I was on the road from Bruma because I went to visit someone who has the power of foresight." she said, simply. "You see, I wanted to know if there was a way that I might...exert...more aggrevance upon my mother, given that she had done so to me. However, I was not told this. I was told instead that I would go on a journey, with unlikely companions who would come to me whilst I was in mourning, under flames. As you can see, that rather fits the description of how we met."
Wellin remained silent. Kiera cast an eye over the others, and continued.
"I was told that, on this journey, there would be much blood and hardship, but that I would reclaim a legend my family had long since lost."
"That would be the mine?"
"I assume so, yes." Kiera nodded.
"Then why not tell them?" Wellin asked, unsure as to why she'd kept silent.
"Because I was told about who they would be." she said, softly. "One will justice, one will find joy, one will be dead, and..." she choked for a moment, "and the other... will die."

This update was very well done, though now I wonder about the closing phrase alot...who will it be that is killed? There is no clue of which character that will be, I can't wait to find out what happens next, the suspense is horrible here so please continue.

Great update. The last phrase was briliantly put and adds mystery to the story. I already have my own thoughts of what happens to who but I'll keep them to myself. At least Mungo's fate can't be worser. I have one question though, is there any way to turn zombies back into living people? I loved Mungo back when he was alive, I still love him in death. He's such a lovable mindless piece of flesh.

That last line scares me. Mungo can't die again, so he is off the list and I don't want any of the others to die.

Prt 16

It felt as though they'd been walking for days, when in reality it had only been a few hours. The cavern and the glow from the torchlight was playing tricks on their minds, and every member of the party save Mungo had begun to get a tingling sensation of dread creeping up their spines (Mungo found it hard to get anything to tingle up his spine, considering it was dislodged and protruding out of his back in a sickening pike). For the most part they travelled in silence. Wellin had nothing that he wanted to say, too busy caught up in thoughts of dread and worry. Kiera had one thought on her mind that continued to replay, each time making her want to shake with anger and frustration that she couldn't control her own mind. Tor thought of his family, of his home so far away, of the journey that had brought him here and of the nothingness that existed once vengence was his. Shamus kept wondering why he'd bought a shirt that chaffed his nipples, and other completely non-related things.

Above thier heads the skies were dominated by the stars, though none of them new it. Day and night were distant memories, compared to the dank seclusion of their walk. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it ended.

"Torch, out! Now!" Shamus hissed, his voice low. Tor did as commanded immediatly, and the party plunged into near-darkness. Near-darkness, for around the corner the glow of light eminated, a haunting presence underground. They looked at each other, before Shamus smiled and crept forward. The others waited in the darkness.

For five minutes he was gone, melted into the shadows, before he appeared once more, popping out in front of Kiera with his tongue out, causing her to fall backwards and gasp to stifle her scream. The bandit laughed, and looked at the other two humans, both of whom narrowed their eyes.
"Don't be a jerk. Leave her alone." Tor said. Shamus turned to him, tilting his head and pulling out his dagger.
"Or what?"
Tor shook his head. "Just don't, alright?"
"Fine." Shamus said, pulling Kiera back to her feet with one hand and sheathing his dagger with the other. "I snooped around. No wonders nobody found Bregale - it's underground. Entire village out there, in that cavern. Houses, some kind of temple, and all around it..." he paused, smiling somewhat. "All around it is silver. Silver veins in the walls, silver rocks, silver nuggets, silver silver silver..." his eyes gleamed as he thought of the riches. Wellin watched in silence, observant as ever, without vocalising his thoughts. Shamus' hands had a sparkle to them, as did his pockets. The bandit had been helping himself to the rocks whilst on his reconnoitre.
"How many of...them?" Tor asked.
"I counted at least twenty-three. Thing is, I think that we can probably get to the Temple - that's where I'm guessing your clues lead, it's the only building of significance - pretty damn easily. I'll just shoot a few of the guards, pick em off, and we'll creep through the entire village."
"Sounds like a plan." Tor nodded. "Everyone ready?"

Prt 17

"Ready?" Shamus asked, knowing full well that everyone was. Tor and Wellin were crouched in front of ihm, Tor having shed hte bulky and clunking armour that would have given away their position with ease. Behind them, Kiera knelt next to Shamus, who had his newly aquired bow out, an arrow resting against the string. Mugno was behind them, ready to charge wildly should anything go wrong.
"Alright, count of three, and then you two run for it. That should distract that guard over there, and I'll get the other one with an arrow, before turning my attention to your hunter, sharpish. Sound like a plan?"
"We're ready when you are." Tor agreed. It seemed to him a little mad, but there was no way they could face twenty three trained killers.

Bregale was a small village, though many of the buildings were now rubble and ruin from when they had been attacked so many years before. Now all that remained were two rows of houses, forming a main street that lead up to the Temple, and a row that diverted off to the right, leading to the mine entrance - not that there needed to be an entrance; the entire cave of Bregale was nothing short of an open-plan mine. Their plan was to run down the left housing block, Shamus picking off the guards, before following with Kiera and Mungo. It was a good plan, one that might just work. Though once they were in the temple, they had no idea what they would find. They were hoping for eight bells, but then there was no guarentee. Nothing so far in thiss journey had been totally predictable.

"One..." Wellin took in a deep breath, drawing it into his lungs and concentrating on where he was supposed to go. The glimmering shine of the silver that surrounded them was a slight distraction, but he put it to he back of his mind and prepared to launch into a spint.
"Two..." Kiera closed her eyes and muttered a quiet prayer that Shamus would be able to shoot as well as he claimed.
"Three!"

Tor and Wellin took off, running at full pelt towards the buildings. The first guard spotted them immediatly and turned, drawing his sword and preparing to cut them off. That left his partner open. Shamus smiled, pulled back the drawstring, and let loose an arrow.

The arrow dropped to the ground, inches in front of him. He looked in amazement as he watched the entire bow dissintegrate and dissolve in his hands, blackening and crumbling to dust, before blowing away in the wind. His eyes bulged with suprise, before he suddenly realised the problem. The bow was conjoured; all the assassin weapons were. Enchanted so that only the Blue Ring Tryst could use them. He stammered for a moment, before looking up at Tor and Wellin, running.
"RUN TOR! THE BOW DOESN"T WORK!" He screamed. His voice competed against the cries of the guards. Tor and Wellin vanished from his sight, into the houses, followed hotly by at least six or seven assassins. Shamus paniced, drawing his dagger and turning to see a massive group of assassins running towards his cries.
"By the nine..." Kiera whispered. Shamus grabbed her by the wrist, and practically yanked her away into the shadows, his legs moving as fast as they could.
"Save the blasphemy for later darlin', we're in serious crud now." was all he could say, before they barged into the right row of houses, panic in their eyes.

Uh oh, trouble. I can't wait for the next update.

Seems like their plans failed and now they're going to have to improvise, should make things very interesting. Looking forward to the next update, great work.

It was a looong read and I am still not finished. I've come to the end of Chapter 14 and I can't really start with the superlatives because if I start now (it's 02:00 AM here in Central Europe) I'll lose a whole night of sleep Wonderful work, all in all - great character portraits, good plot with twists, just right mix of humor and adventure... oh noes man, I am never gonna get some sleep !

p.s.: Too bad that Wellin is a part of the gang Now, where the heck am I gonna get me a good smithie ??


EDIT (02:24 AM): Finished Chapter 17 *wide yawn* goddamnit, the suspence and lack of sleep are killing me and I have absolutely NO trama roots to chew for caffeine...