Truly outstanding work, Danny. You descriptions are vivid, and you manage to convey a great deal with a few words. So happy to see this continued.

Oh my dear, I do feel sorry for her!

Danny I have to second our writing-master treydog here, this is an outstanding work, indeed it is.

Oh and this line got right into me:




Mmmmmmm beautiful...

Chapter 4 - Stuck

It took him nearly a week to reach Andrethis, and Azyrek was tired, wet, cold, and hungry. Entering the small town after nightfall to hide his heritage, he walked the muddy streets keeping an eye out for somewhere to hide from the merciless rain. There were no major landmarks in the town, with the exception of the guards' barracks, which was the only stone structure in the place. Everything else was wooden shanties, inns, taverns, and shops; the basic necessities of any town. He couldn't believe that Rinori had sent him to this hellhole. Moving forward despite his poor luck, he pressed on towards the least well-kept inn. That would be the one with the least questions.

On entry, he found that he was the only one in the common room, save for the elderly dunmer behind the counter. The place was dimly lit; as a few candles mounted to the wall gave off a soft glow. On the rickety shelf behind the clerk were various forms of alcohol, all of which looked very appealing to the road weary assassin.

"Brandy?" he asked the mer.

The old one shook his head, "None of that here. Greef, sujamma, and matze,"

"Sujamma, then," he replied, sitting at the bar though staying careful to keep his head down.

The barkeep put the sujamma in front of him, "Five gold."

"Room and food?"

"Twenty for all of it, then."

Azyrek dropped the coins in his hand.

"So can you say more than three words at a time?" the comment was obviously a playful one, no harm intended.

"I can," Azyrek replied, trying his best to kill the joke.

The old one laughed, "Well prove it, then. That was only two. I'm an old lonely bartender. I'm used to talking, and you're my only customer in days. I'm bored to tears here. What's your name, Sera?"

He hesitated for a moment, but he hadn't had the presence of mind to come up with an alias earlier. He decided it didn't matter; there wasn't a soul in this country who knew his name, save Rinori, and she was miles behind.

"Azyrek," he finally answered, extending a hand.

"There aren't many names like that around here," the dunmer looked at the gray and red hand curiously, but still shook it, "I'm Nevis, good to meet you. So where you from, Azyrek, what brings you here?"

Nevis turned away while he ladled some soup into a bowl. Azyrek took a sip of sujamma. Not bad.

"I come from Cheydinhal in Cyrodiil, heading for Mournhold. I heard there was transport from here?"

"Mournhold? From Cheydinhal? You're pretty far south to be headed to Mournhold. Why not get transport from Kragenmoor?" he put the bowl of soup in front of Azyrek.

"What?"

"Kragenmoor. It sits on the border. Pretty much due east of Cheydinhal, once you pass through the mountains. They have a Mages Guild there that could have taken you directly to the city."

Azyrek's jaw tightened and he slammed is fist on the counter, "That little..."

"What's wrong?"

"I passed the place days ago," he answered, taking a significantly larger sip of sujamma, "Apparently someone wanted to make me take a detour. A long one."

I swear if I find her in Mournhold...

Nevis laughed again, "Don't get too worked up about it; there's still a guild guide here, so all is well, right?"

"I suppose," he said, pausing for a moment to taste the soup, "Well tell me this; would it be difficult to cross the Badlands?"

"Oh, that much you've got right. You know anything about deserts? Better to come here than try to cross. There are almost no settlements, food is scarce and water scarcer."

So Rinori wanted to delay him. A week. While still making sure he survived. Why? He admitted that it could have been innocent enough; maybe she wanted to make sure she caught up with him in Mournhold? Possible, but unlikely. There was something deeper, here. Something strange.

Just took awhile to read this and I have to say that I love it. As treydog said, you have very vivid descriptions that make me able to see it in my head.

Anyways, great story can't wait for the next update!

Yes yes!! Another update! I must say I love that post-machine thingie you have going on Danny! Love it, love it!

So ..more please?

Chapter 4 - Stuck (continued)

Azyrek slipped out of the inn early the next morning, before even Nevis was awake to tend to his business. The dirt roads were still damp, but not as muddy as the night before. He found the Mages Guild easily enough, though the building wasn't much to look at. Nothing in the town was.

"I need to travel to Mournhold," he explained to the first person he met inside.

"Guild guide is at the end of the hall to the right," the mousey bosmer woman replied without even looking up from the scrap of parchment she was reading.

Azyrek followed her instructions and entered the room. The dunmer inside had wild red hair that stuck out in almost every direction. He was sitting at a desk, apparently creating potions, as he was busy crushing ingredients with a mortar and pestle. He hadn't even noticed Azyrek entering.

Azyrek cleared his throat to get the mer's attention, "Ahem,"

"Ah! What?" he asked, jumping in surprise. He looked even more surprised when he saw the figure in front of him, "Who the hell summoned a dremora indoors?" he shouted as he cast a dispel spell Azyrek's way. Surprise seemed to be the name of the game, as the mage felt it once again when the dremora didn't fade away into Oblivion.

"Are you done?" he asked the mage irritably, "I just want to get to Mournhold..."

The mage seemed petrified, but not out of fear. Mostly confusion.

"You...wait right here. I'll be back."

"I'm trying to get to Mournhold!" he shouted down the hall after the odd mer. He was ignored, so he followed after.

"See?" the dunmer pointed at Azyrek when he caught up. The dunmer was speaking to the bosmer woman who'd given him directions barely a minute before.

"By the Nine," the woman remarked, "I'm Farawen, my eccentric counterpart here is Bervayn."

"I'm still waiting to get transported to Mournhold," he said, making his aggravation evident.

"Well..." she said, "We don't usually serve dremora,"

Azyrek narrowed his eyes, "There's a first time for everything. Or at least there better be in this case."

Farawen wagged her finger at him like a mother scolding a child, "Uh-uh-uh, Sir Dremora. If you want to get to Mournhold you'd best be a little more polite."

"You can't be serious."

"Oh, I am. You see, beings such as yourself are difficult for mages like us to happen upon and-"

Azyrek cut her off, "Since when is summoning a dremora too difficult for the Mages' Guild?"

"If you would mind you manners and stop interrupting me, you would know that I was referring to dremora that have crossed over permanently, such as yourself. Usually we'd find them in ruins and the like, but they're always so violent..."

Azyrek seriously wanted to get violent. He couldn't believe he was taking this kind of talk from a woman half his height.

"...Anyway," Farawen continued on, "Since you're here, we can study how your form stays on this plane! In return, of course, we'll send you to Mournhold."

"What kind of studying? And how long will this take?" he asked, growing impatient, but having no choice but to play along. Unless he wanted to backtrack a week and go back to Kragenmoor, which was absolutely out of the question.

"We just want a day," she said with a grin, "We will cast some spells on you --no harmful ones, I promise-- and take notes, and compare our findings with our reference materials."

"Fine," he conceded with a sigh, "Go ahead, cast away."

"Well we aren't ready now, silly! Come back tomorrow morning after we prepare."

Azyrek hated the delay, but it was unavoidable. His only consolation was the fact that he was only half dremora. They would likely come up with all kinds of false theories if they really thought he was a full-blown daedra, which they apparently did.

"Fine," he said, "Tomorrow. One day is all you get, then you take me to Mournhold."

"That's the deal," she confirmed.

Azyrek left then, cursing his luck as he walked back to the inn. It was raining again.

Hilarious! I can fully understand the mage's reaction on Azyrek..ha it must be like when a doctor sees a very unusual symptom in a patient and want to make some research.

Poos Azyrek....it must be hard on him....

Waiting eagerly to see what kind of experiments they're gonna do on him..Mind you mages, be nice to him!

Azyrek is my favourite Dremora..

Silly mages. I feel Azyrek's pain...

Chapter 4 - Stuck (continued)

"What are you?" Bervayn asked irritably for the thousandth time. Azyrek didn't understand a lot of the magicka talk, but he did know that the two mages were finding nothing. He had sat in the same little wooden chair for hours. They had been flipping through enormous books, muttering incantations, poking him with strange instruments, taking notes, and hypothesizing all day. It was obvious they'd found nothing, and night would fall soon. The halfblood resisted the urge to smile smugly, and sat silent. Him answering questions was not part of the deal.

"Ugh! Farawen, make him speak!"

Farawen shook her head and kept reading whatever scroll was in her hand. Unlike her impatient friend, she wanted no easy answer. All she wanted to find the answer for herself and shout 'I knew it!' while pointing a finger in the dremora's face. But there was no more time. She scrawled out a few more thoughts before beginning to collect her notes. Maybe it would come in time.

"One more spell," Farawen said, approaching Azyrek with a scroll, "Then you'll be in Mournhold."

"Make it quick," Azyrek said, stretching his arms wide. He'd been sitting still for a long time, and was beginning to feel antsy.

Farawen nodded once more and went through the spell. It was one of the most basic types of revealing spells. So basic that she and Bervayn had skipped over it altogether. A gleam was visible in her eyes after she cast the spell, and she hurried to a piece of parchment and wrote something short. Very short. Azyrek tried to crane his neck to see what she had written, but Farawen was working too quickly now.

"Alright," she said, stuffing the paper into the folds of her robe, "We're all done here. Time to go to Mournhold. Bervayn, would you see him along?"

"But-"

"Now!"

Azyrek blinked, and realized he was somewhere else. He cursed silently. Surveying his surroundings, he found himself in a Courtyard. It was dark, at least, so he kept from drawing attention to himself. He began to wander the city, searching for the Plaza Brindisi Dorom.

I'd fallen behind on this one. Most enjoyable. I'm interested to see how the two plots converge and where this is headed. Well written and a good idea.

Great stuff!