Some of you probably remember my last piece, Yesterday's Shadow and that it had a rather unsatisfying ending. I spent the summer rectifying this and now have a sizeable sequel/ completion to it which is itself now finished. It would probably be better to read Yesterday's Shadow before this as it would make more sense, however you should get by without it. If anyone wants I'll put a synopsis here, though Yesterday's Shadow isn't very long so you could just read it here (enough plugs yet?)

Anyway without further ado:




Prologue

Dervas wore boots while he worked. Shoes didn't last long in the decaying mixture of blood, vomit, drink and drugs which floored The Black Guar. The dark man had finally passed out and for the first time Dervas dared look at him. A worn man with a broken soul. Who are you? The Black Guar didn't get passing trade – the mixture of pushers, heavies and racketeers who made up most of his patronage didn't appreciate strangers. In the first hour the man, who now lay face down on the table, had knocked two out cold and broken another's arm. They left him alone after that and he them. Dervas wiped the remains of a line of sugar off the bar and nodded to the bouncer who went to move the man to his room.

Someone knocked at the door. Dervas ignored it. They knocked again, for longer this time. He cursed and went to tell whoever it was where to go. It was late an he didn't need any more trade. He pushed open the door, a curse dancing on his tongue. A sack crashed to the ground, gold clinked within. A Breton in black clothes stood in the doorway.

“What's his tab?” There was no need to ask whose.

“Sixty.”

The Breton showed no surprise, and counted out the gold. “Listen,” his tone offered pain if Dervas didn't, “You keep giving that guy drinks, drugs, whores, whatever he asks for okay? For him happy hour doesn't end, tabs never have to be paid. Push as much as you can into him. Don't worry - I'll be round a couple of nights a week to pay you. That sack,” he kicked disdainfully at the one he'd just dropped, “Contains a thousand drakes, payment enough I'd say. If he asks don't tell him, just give him more drink. Understand?”

Dervas nodded, his mouth was dry.

The man disappeared into the night.

Dervas walked back into the bar. He looked towards the dark man's room. Who are you? he thought again, And what have I gotten into?

Woo-hoo! This starts at a run and doesn't let up. Descriptive, detailed, and intriguing. So many questions waiting exposition.... Did I mention that I love it?

Next bit and longer this time. It won't make as much sense without having read 'Yesterday's Shadow' though I guess you could work out what's happening.


1. Forgetting

I woke up with a scorching head, I was in a bed but had no idea of where or how. The skin was gone from my right knuckles. I cringed at the half light which slipped around ill-fitting shutters, an inn then. By the particular piquancy of the hangover I knew skooma and booze had featured heavily, maybe other stuff. I lay back and drifted into the timeless almost sleep of the morning after. Like a creeping glacier memories returned, I'd desperately needed something... Varnan was sick! I sat up and nausea hit me. I remembered I'd given him to a healer. The panic dispelled. I'd met Renera again after all the years. She'd gone. My stomach was a shrivelled bag of vitriol but even so I wanted a drink. So many years...

I stood, saw blood on my shirt and remembered fragments the night before. Not much to recall. I pulled it on anyway and pushed through into the bar. It was a dank hole, and that suited me fine. I waded though the remains of the reeds which covered the floor and, rather unsteadily, took a stool at the bar.

The barkeep appeared all smiles, “Scrambled kwama egg? I swear by it the morning after. Come on; its on the house.”

His words hurt my head and my right knuckles itched, I wasn't sure whether this was because I'd cut them on someone's face the night before or in response to my desire to wipe the grin from the dunmer on the other side of the bar. I resisted temptation and said, “Skooma is better, but I'll have the eggs too.”

He raised an eyebrow, “What sort of skooma do you want?”

“Your best. An eighth.” He scuttled away to get it from a room behind the bar.

The skooma was lousy but the eggs were tolerable. I told Dervas this.

“Sorry sir-”

“My name's Firen, I ain't a sir.”

“Of course, sorry,” he blustered, “You'll be staying here today? I'll go out and get better now.”

“Give me a bottle of greef first, I'll be in my corner.”

He nodded and put the bottle on the table before hurrying out. I took another mouthful of egg and suddenly my stomach flipped. I got as far as leaning before bringing my breakfast up on the floor, Dervas would just have to clean it, though I doubted he, or anyone else, ever cleaned that floor. I left my eggs and took the bottle and my pipe to the corner table.

I'd emptied the first one by the time Dervas reappeared and was looking up at the bar. There were a lot of bottles behind it and I was just sure that in the bottom of one I would find peace, or at least oblivion which is similar. Problem was which one? I'd just have to try until I found it.



I woke with a scorching head. After that I don't know much, days went by in a blur of vice and hangovers. I'd been on binges before, bad ones stopped when the money ran out. This was a bad one. But in the land of The Black Guar the money flowed in a bountiful river, and the barkeep never asked for the tab. I wandered about this in a few lucid moments, then I'd see my loose grey skin, the weight I'd lost, feel the pain in my gut. I knew it was killing me, so I drank and smoked the memories away.

It was evening, I think. I'd been vomiting all day and couldn't hold any spirits down. I was at a table with two of the locals playing crowns.

"Hear the news from Stent?" asked Tildas, the dunmer who was banking.

Llerri, the other, nodded. A deep scar cut across the right side of his face. I didn't know the history. I didn't care, "Yes, bad stuff. Makes you glad you don't live back country."

Tildas nodded, that way drunks do, "I say that if the Telvanni can't clean it up the temple should come and do it."

"As like as no it was a Telvanni."

"I haven't heard," I said, "What happened."

Both pairs of red eyes looked at me. Tildas was incredulous, "How can you not have heard? Oh stuff goes down out back country here alright, but away from the roads, and at night. Stent was annihilated in broad daylight they say. The townspeople were all found dead, whoever did it was inventive about it too."

"Aye," said Llerri with relish, "They say it was messy. People found disembowelled or scorched or freshly thawed," I wandered at how calmly he said it, "Plenty of signs of magic. Not that that'll surprise anyone."

"There's enough rouge sorcerers north of here," I agreed. It was my roll, Llerri wagered crowns and diamonds, Tildas spades. Three spades and two spots. I broke even.

Tildas took his drakes, "I hear there's been some trouble up at the fort too," I raised my eyebrows, "Not that interesting really..."

"Go on," I said and refilled his glass.

He smiled, "Well, other than Stent and a few messy killings on the road in the last couple of days I hear the Cult shrine is in uproar. That old basket Antonius Nuncius has been taking more from the bottle than anyone thought, apparently he'd been pinching from the donations. His novice reported him, some scrap about a patient going missing. Gods know why anyone would take someone there, Nuncius is a useless old fart. Meersa is far better."

I got a terrible sinking feeling. If only I was a little more drunk I'd have missed the implication, or not cared anyway. "What happened for a patient to go missing?"

Tildas looked confused, "Who cares? It's the Cult getting caught in the dump that's so great." He laughed.

"I care."

He stopped laughing. My reputation clearly preceded me. "Well," he said, "Far's I know he was just some adventurer, " he spat the word, "who went in too deep and got burned. No one local."

I swore. Copiously. If that wasn't Varnan I was a guar.

"What," asked Lleri, "Friend of yours?"

"I don't have friends. Now, what do you know of his disappearance?"

"Nothing really, everyone's talking about Nuncius," I don't think he could help a smile. Even so he was sweating. It surprised me, I hadn't realised I was so intimidating, "By the rumours he just disappeared overnight, one morning he wasn't there."

"Might have got fed up of Nuncius," laughed Tildas.

Varnan gone. Perhaps he had decided he was better and left, but at night and without saying anything? That didn't fit. I wasn't in the mood for this. I stood.

"Where are you going?"

"To ask some questions."

"What about the next wager."

"A decent play by Curio," I tossed him the buy-in, picked up my bottle and wandered to the bar. Foul stomach or no it had mysteriously emptied itself by the time I got there. Dervas already had a mug of greef poured, most folk drink it in small glasses, I don't. It too vanished.

"Catching up?" he asked as he poured another.

"No," I said taking a swig. Why the hell couldn't Varnan just be dull and simple? Surely it came naturally. And why did I have to find out about it? "What do you know about the disappearance of Ceril's patient?"

"Ceril? The novice up at the cult? I know someone went missing, nothing more really. He's kicked up a right stink about it, embarrassed them no end. Word is the patient just vanished, he was there at night and wasn't in the morning, the locks were all still shut."

This got better. Unconsciously I finished the mug. A new one replaced it. I couldn't be bothered but having broached the subject I continued, "I want to know more."

"Why? If I may ask?" there was something in his tone. Worry? "I'm not sure there is much more to know."

"If he's in a stick," I shook my head to clear it, "I may have to help him."

"I'm sure it's fine," said Dervas rather too quickly, "Here have some flin, it will help you relax."

I paused, I needed to find out more. To check he was alright. Why? The question was hard to answer, I just did. 'Why?' The other half of my mind replied, 'drink it'll go away. Everything does.' Why should I help Varnan? He could look after himself. But I should check at least. Why? The question blocked me at every turn, what was to gain? Things were good here, the booze flowed, I got enough skooma to keep the jones firmly away. I knew what was right. I should at least have a look.

Why?

Dervas looked at me, "Are you okay?"

I stood purposefully, ready to make a definite decision. For a moment I paused, maybe even twitched toward the door. Then I took the bottle from Dervas's hand and downed it. I sat heavily, my choice made. "Another of them, add it to the tab."

Another bottle appeared, the smile returned. "Anything else?"

"Another ounce of skooma." He was past looking shocked though I heard the dunmer next to me mutter something.

"Actually," said Dervas, "I got in a certain little something for you. One of the smugglers has got in some Tenmar, really hot stuff, I though you might like a try."

"Go on."

He produced a small vial, "Mind it's strong."

I nodded and retreated to my corner, bottle in one hand pipe in the other. He wasn't lying about its potency, before long the room wafted away on sweet clouds of whiteness. From deep in the fluffy haze I was aware of urgency, panic even. People crowded. Confusion.

Saying that I "enjoyed" reading the latest installment would be using the wrong verb. It was many things- well-written, disturbing, painful.... The point of art is to make the viewer (reader) FEEL. And you certainly deliver here. The despair and self-loathing and squalor are so real, I want to turn away. But I can't- because the words have drawn me in.

I admit I did lay it on a bit heavy in the last part but my intention was to set up a mood and backdrop without getting bogged down. Thanks for the comment. Another longish part, if they are too long do say and I'll make the cut shorter. As ever any comments appriciated.

2. Cold Morning

I could sense someone near me but was too near to sleep to do anything. In a second hand way I was aware that there was a lump in the mattress pushing uncomfortably into my back but it simply didn't occur to move. Slowly, though in truth the term meant little as I had no sense of time, but it felt gradual at least, I became aware of myself. Arms lying close by my sides. Legs slightly raised. Hands under a cheap blanket. My ear crushed against the pillow. They came like news from a foreign country, fantastical additions to the infinite darkness combining, ameliorating and becoming myself. After a long time, or not, I opened my eyes. They felt gritty. I looked around, it was a simple room, small with a single window. Bundles of herbs hung from the smoke-blackened beams on the roof. I tried to sit up and failed. I felt like I'd been trampled by a herd of guar. I lay there trying to fathom what had happened, I'd been unconscious, that much was certain but the details evaded me. Then the door opened and a middle aged dunmer woman walked in, she looked like there was some ashlander in her, she was short and an apron covered her enormous stomach.

"Hmm," she said, "You've come round. And about time."

I groaned weakly.

"What's you name?"

I had to think hard but eventually it came, "Firen," my voice was a croak, "I work for the Fighters Guild."

She nodded, apparently pleased, "Awake and not raving this time then. Good. I suppose you want to know where you are?"

I nodded.

"I'm Meersa, healer. And you took some particularly bad skooma, almost three days ago now. I had another couple in who took some of the same batch but they both died."

Memory came crashing down, and with it the hangover. I winced, what small part of the bender I could remember put it down as among the worst, and this time it had been almost fatal. How had it lasted so long? I put the thought away for later. "By the nine," I muttered reaching to rub my temples. My muscles felt like bags of water.

Meersa clucked, "You're a tough one, I'll give you that. I'd say half the city knows of your... excesses. Still I have some folk coming in from up Ness way, someone, or thing, attacked there last night and I'll see no help from those baskets up at the cult so I'd best give you something for the head. How deeply do you want to sleep?"

Something beyond the dysphoria of the hangover stirred in my mind at the mention of the cult. I thought but nothing came to mind. Meersa was glaring at me, "Sleep.." I said, "Not too deeply but sleep would be nice," the niggle at the back of my mind continued, "Is there something I should remember about the cult?"

She looked at me, testing. I held her gaze. "You managed to forget then?" she seemed surprised, "One of their patients went missing, I know they're useless but..."

I didn't hear her finish. Varnan had gone missing and what had I done? I shook my head, Now sober I realised I deserved to feel every bit as bad as I did. He had needed me. No, he still did.

"I don't want to sleep," I said, "I have something needs doing."

She turned from the kettle she was boiling, "You're in no state-"

"The man who went missing was a friend, I need to find him."

"Are you sure he didn't just get better?"

"Yes."

She paused, "Alright, so am I. Sit up." I did. The room span. "Are you sure you need to go now?"

"I should have days ago."

She nodded, "Willow bark, honey..." she murmured throwing things into the kettle, "I hear some things. Talk to Ceril but I doubt he'll know much. Dalam on the other hand..." She stopped.

"What?"

"I didn't say anything," she said. I shook my head again but didn't push her. A few minutes later she poured a mug from the kettle, "This should take the edge off the symptoms and give you more energy until your own returns."

I took the mug, a film of oil floated over bitter smelling brown liquid. I took a draught. It was foul and curdled my stomach. Was she trying to poison me? I discarded the thought, if she wanted me dead she'd had ample chance. I downed the rest of it ignoring the vile taste.

"Good," she took the cup, "I don't know who you are, or what sort of mess you're in. I don't want to, but there's iron in you and your friend needs you. This is a rotten city." I waited for her to say more. At length she continued, "There's a sword by the door, I doubt you'll see the rest of you stuff again."

I nodded, "My thanks... I... I'm afraid I haven't any money."

"Dervas paid some, and I suspect the next few hours will be payment enough."

My mind felt less addled after the tea but she still made no sense. I decided that free was fine by me. "My thanks," I repeated, and picked up the sword as I left.


It was cold outside. The rutted mud was frozen hard as stone, a frosty sun hung in a cloud brindled sky. I breathed the air and enjoyed its chill within my lungs. Even though I could feel the edge of skooma withdrawal the simple joy at being outside and free overwhelmed it. Free: the thought was a novel one. I could do anything now. Nothing had really changed, perhaps it was coming so close to death, or perhaps it was the death of the hope which had haunted the past decade. I felt different. The future beaconed, and I would go after Varnan. Not because fate pushed me but because I chose to.

Meersa lived west of the keep by the docks. The people here were less broken than those in the north of town but the area was far from rich. Over the road a dunmer woman hung out cheap clothes to dry, one side of her face was bruised. I doubted she'd fallen. This is a rotten city. Meersa had said that. It wasn't my business, perhaps Meersa would see to it, perhaps she wouldn't. I set off up the dirty streets towards the fort.

As I walked I realised why I had not stopped the bender. The city was a festering wound, people crawled like maggots, going blindly about their daily lives. Everywhere was decay, I passed an old man patching a repair on an old bit of cloth which covered his missing windows. Beggars raked through mouldering piles of rubbish which lay in side-streets with no hope of ever being cleaned. A low palisade separated the inner city from the slums outside, the guards at the gate were too intent on gambling away their debts to care who passed in or out. I continued on towards the Imperial Cult shrine. The keep was full of bored legionaries, I'd had a few postings like this when I was in the legion, guarding a fort in the middle of nowhere which only holds because nobody cared enough to attack it. It wasn't fulfilling work. Their apathy was fog which choked the poorly built rooms. Someone had scrawled vulgar slogans across the door of the cult shrine, I kicked it open.

Inside was dark and smoky. Nucius, the priest, glanced up before turning back to the bottle of cheap spirit on the altar.

"Father," I said, "I'm looking-"

"Stick it, s'wit," he said.

I drew my sword and his eyes widened. "No. Now what do you know of the patient who went missing under your care?" The glass fell from his hand and the smell of brandy added to the stench. I felt a twinge of longing, but crushed it.

"Other than it upset that treacherous fetcher Ceril? Nothing."

"You lie," I said and swaggered towards him, sword ready. I had no idea if he was but scaring him couldn't hurt.

"No," he squealed like a pig, "Ceril left him in the other room one night. I'd already gone. He wasn't there in the morning."

"Why wasn't he there," my head still hurt but I tried to look as threatening as possible. By the smell of urine emanating from the old priest I was succeeding.

"What's this?" a shocked voice behind me.

I turned to face a thin man. He hunched dreadfully and seemed intent on the floor, Ceril, if I remembered him rightly. "I'm looking for a certain patient of yours."

"Firen? You bothered to come and check then?"

"Yes." I ignored his accusation, "What happened?"

"Varnan was getting better. I left one evening having finished sweeping and locked up. The next morning he was gone, but the locks were still shut." His gazed flickered around like a Khajit on hot coals, something worried him and I suspected it wasn't just me.

"Had the locks been tampered? Did someone come in"

"How would I know? I'm a priest, well training to be one, I don't know about that sort of thing." His eyes were more on the door than myself. He was scared, and not of me.

"What do you know?"

His lip curled as if snagged on a fishhook, but he said nothing.

"You've kicked up hell already, you know that," I hate talking my way to information, breaking a few bones has a similar result and is easier but I had to at least try, "I don't know what it is you know but you've already gone far enough to get burned, you might as well tell me the rest."

He looked pained and was silent for a moment. Then he sighed, "Fine, someone showed... Interest in him. Asked me to keep him posted on the details. Someone who shouldn't have given a damn."

"Did you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"When Big Dalam asks for something you don't refuse."

I doubted it was the whole truth. I didn't care; I'd already heard that name today, "Big Dalam?"

Ceril looked distinctly miserable, "He's bad news. Camonna Tong."

"Where can I find him?"

"You don't want to..." he saw my expression, "The Camonna Tong stay in the Watcher's Club, next to the warehouse district."

"Thanks," I said and left.

Your descriptive power again places the reader right in the middle of the scene. I can feel the cold, smell the smoke of rubbish fires- and of less pleasant things.... And the narrative also moves forward nicely. Well-done, indeed.

3. Finding the Scent

The Watcher's Club screamed criminal hangout. It was halfway decent, for Firewatch, but the district wasn't. It squatted between two dark warehouses full of goods waiting for the docks, warm light spilled from its windows onto the early evening street. I pushed open the door. The murmur of conversation stopped. Every eye turned to look. I cursed inwardly, but didn't break step on my way to the bar. The barkeep was a dunmer, as were all the patrons, he glowered at me as he smeared grime round a glass with a greasy rag.

"A jug of shein," I said putting a coin on the bar.

"That's forty gold for your sort," he said, still polishing the glass.

The bar was still quiet, only a score of patrons, so I decided I wasn't in the mood to play it that way, "Oh well," I said, rather loudly, "I don't really want any of your horsepiss. Do you know what I really want? I want a word with Dalam."

A chair scraped behind me. Otherwise the silence was complete.

"What makes you think I know anyone by that name?" asked the barman.

"Because that fetcher is Camonna Tong scum and they seem to want to drink your filth."

The barman didn't answer, his gaze went over my shoulder. I followed it, behind me a dark elf stood up. When they'd called him Big Dalam they hadn't been lying.

He walked towards me slowly. About two inches from me he stopped, clearly he was used to people finding his size threatening. I resisted the urge to elbow him in the bread basket.

"Last week you went to see Ceril at the cult. Why?" I asked.

"None of your business, n'wah," he answered.

"I didn't think the stories were true," I said in mock surprise, "Your mother really did sleep with a guar. Was she one?"

"You're going to pay for that human." He was every bit as stupid and proud as I'd hoped.

"Care to take this outside?"

He turned to the door are strode out. I unhooked my sword from my belt but left the knife there and followed.

Outside he turned to me, "I'm going to gut you fetcher and dump the body in the docks."

I smiled at him and dropped my sword to the ground, "Fists only?"

"Fine by me." He laughed and put his massive forearms up.

I did the same and for a moment we circled, the snow had compacted to ice on the cobbles. It was as slippery as hell. He moved forward, testing the water, trying my defence. I didn't bother. He telegraphed his punch too much and I stepped inside the haymaker. He was fast and it caught me on the back of the head. I felt a ring on his finger tear my skin but ignored it. My hand was already at my belt pulling out the knife and before he'd recovered his balance I'd jabbed it left handed into his thigh. He yelped and bent forward only to meet my right elbow going upward. With a clack of teeth it connected with his jaw.

He was out before he hit the ground. No one had come to watch the fight, but that didn't mean they wouldn't. I could feel blood running from the back of my head but I ignored the urge to check it and dragged Dalam down an alley beside the tavern and into the shade of a warehouse yard. I breathed heavily as I propped him behind a pile of crates and tied his hands with his shirt. A combination of the punch and the effort of moving his bulk had brought back some of the sickness. Soon he would feel worse though. The thought was a warm one.

I'd placed the knife well well away from any arteries so it didn't bleed, much, as I pulled it out. Certainly not life threateningly. I took a clod of damp snow and threw it in his face then smacked him with my open palm. His eyes fluttered open. For a moment he sat dazed, then the swearing started.

"You filthy n'wah. I'll flay the cheating hide from your corpse you-" I put the tip of my knife in his mouth and he was silent.

"Don't bother struggling," I said. He did anyway. The knots would only tighten. "Now you're going to be civil. Why were you talking to Ceril?" I pulled my knife free.

"You piece of dirt. I'm going to-" I punched him. Hard.

"Tell me," I put the point of my knife against his breast, just hard enough for a bit of blood to well up.

He was silent.

I dragged the knife a little bit along his breastbone. It grated like a broken skate on rough ice.

"Okay," he gasped whitely, "Okay. You win. Damn." I thought he might be sick but to his credit he held it, "Someone asked me to. A breton, suspicious type. He wore black. I don't know who he worked for..."

"You suspect," he was frightened and easy to read.

"I had him followed. He went to Dervas's place then we lost him. Magic probably."

"You sure."

"Yes, yes. That's all I know."

"Good," my fist lashed out. He hardly knew it was coming before he was out. Someone would hear him shout when he came round, in the mean time I had my next name. And another I knew.

I walked back past the side of The Watcher's Club, it was near full dark so I took a lamp which sat in the windowsill. The cut on my head twinged. It was shallow and had scabbed fine, but not before soaking a good bit of blood into my shirt and jacket. Still I doubted Dervas would mind.

Well done. Real taut storytelling as ever.

Woo-Hoo! Another excellent scene. Please continue, sir. (Makes hopeful puppy-dog eyes).

Thanks for the comments. Without further ado:

4. Fey Night

It was mid evening and The Black Guar was busy with its usual range of pushers, thugs and toads. I stood in the shadows of an alley round the side thinking. I couldn't just walk in and set to work on Dervas, and in that moment I had every intention of working him over good and hard if he didn't have some pretty convincing answers. Or if those answers weren't the right ones. But I didn't want to hang around until he closed up, sooner or later someone would notice that Dalam hadn't come back, or even find him, and then folk would get jumpy. A month before I would have taken him on his advice on dumping bodies in the harbour, but something had stayed my hand. I felt I'd been right, but I couldn't see why.

I kept hidden and thought. I couldn't go in, I couldn't wait. I didn't really want to be recognised by anyone either. I turned at some shouts from inside. It was just another fight so I returned to the shadows. As I did the hooded lantern bumped my fingers I hissed in pain. Then I grinned, an idea started to form. It wasn't the smartest idea, even then I saw that, but it had a sort of inexorable appeal. By the shouting the fight was going to be a good one. I counted to ten before I heard a bottle being broken; it was even better than I'd hoped. Chairs scraped. I stepped from the shadows and hurled the lantern though the window.

It had been full. There was a clatter, barely audible above the brawl, and then a loud whumph. The shouts rose in pitch. From back in my hiding place I saw dancing light shine out the windows. Moments later the first patrons spilled out and stood across the street, their eyes fascinated on the blaze. More emerged, coughing now, Dervas was one of the last, a heavy sack hung from his hand. He looked about as if in a bad dream. He was shouting for buckets and water. Most of the patrons remained fixated by the fire. I stayed unnoticed in the excitement, just another figure in the flickering shadows.

"To the well," someone shouted.

This time more people moved, Dervas among them. I slipped into the group, still ignored in the excitement, and made my way to Dervas. "I have buckets in my house," I strained my voice hoping he wouldn't recognise it.

In his panic he didn't, "Yes, yes. Where?"

"Follow."

He did, I ran to a gap between two houses and turned. He eyes were wide. I punched him and dragged him between the dirty buildings. Just shy of the gardens he recovered enough to shout. I knocked his head against a wall and he fell back into a daze. I grabbed him and his jingling sack.

A couple of minutes later I'd dragged him onto the yard at the back of a smithy. It was quiet and would remain so until the morning. The forge was in a dilapidated shed by a garden wall, one kick opened its door. I dragged Dervas half conscious to the quenching bucket and pushed his head in. After a couple of moments he began to struggle. I pulled him out. He gasped. I stuck him back in. This time I held him under for longer.

When I pulled his head back out the greasy water he gasped and fell to his knees. I stood over him.

"Sorry," he whined, "I didn't know the stuff was bad. It won't be next time, I'll make-" A kick in the face cut him off.

"Its not the bad skooma I want to know about," I wasn't exactly sure what to ask, but he knew what I needed to know and I knew he would be a squealer. I picked up a hammer.

"What do you want?"

"I think you know." I was angry, a rage that had scorched years had boiled up and been honed into a sharp point by the purpose I'd found. I would find who was responsible. I would do what needed done.

He looked at me questioningly. I broke his leg. It was that simple, one swing of the hammer, one crunch. Something inside me shrivelled but I pushed it aside. He went to speak, I kicked him again. When I let him talk he was going sing. I pulled out my belt knife. He raised his hands to protect himself and I flicked it out and damn near cut one in half.

This time he really screamed. I was in a sort of dream, I'm not sure I could have done it if I hadn't been. Not that it was going to matter much to him soon. He quivered like a leaf in the Evening Star breeze. Vomit was added to the blood which soaked his trousers.

"Ready to talk straight? Or do you want to meet the bucket again?"

"I'll speak," he whimpered.

"Good."

He paused for a moment but there was no defiance in it, "Where should I start?"

"The beginning."

He took a deep breath, "The night you arrived, after I'd had you put in a room, a man arrived. A breton, he always wore black. He gave me a thousand drakes, a thousand, and paid your tab. That's why I never had you pay, he was, and more. He wanted me to pour as much drink and skooma into you as I could, not that you made it hard." He paused, afraid he'd gone to far. I ignored him. It was the truth, and that was what I'd wanted. "He came a couple of times a week, always secretive and always in black. He wore his hood low, I think to hide a streak of white in his hair, at the fringe. Otherwise I couldn't say what he looked like. I never found out anything from him, I didn't even try to follow him. But I did notice one thing."

"What."

"I think the gold was imperial, almost all the coins were minted in the Imperial City not Mournhold. That's not common. He wasn't a legionnaire either, you can spot them a mile off even undercover, and in Firewatch that only leaves the Mages Guild, or the Cult. Assuming he was from Firewatch. And that Mages Guild bloke up at the keep is an odd one."

I nodded, "Is that all you know."

"Yes."

I cursed his disinterest but I believed him. "Fine," I said and pushed my sword through him. He'd done more than enough to deserve it, and he pointed the same way as Dalam. The Mages Guild. Great.

I've just finished reading through this, and your previous story. They are both fantastic! I'm eagerly awaiting the next installment.

5. Last Visit

Firemoth was dead by night. I slipped through darkened corridors. The keep slept. I knew the Mages Guild man lived somewhere above the Cult shrine, but I didn't want to go up that way. In all honesty I had no idea of what the mage might be capable of. I wanted every advantage, he might watch the corridor, I wouldn't use the one he'd expect.

Eventually I found a stairwell near the eastern corner of the fort. After the first story the thick stone walls gave way to draughty warped planks. They didn't look like they'd stop a determined woodpecker, let alone a Telvanni warhost. It made me wander what the guards had done to be stationed there. I passed another three floors, their darkened corridors weaved crazily off into the gloom. The air was rank with disuse and decay. Then I was at the top of the tower, a few crates lay broken around a ladder. Cheap arrows and empty bottles poked out from them. I climbed the ladder and opened the hatch at the top. There was a dull glow. I pushed my head out and realised why; in the lee of the thin wooden crenellations a brasier smouldered. Next to it slumped the dark form of a guard, a bottle hung from his limp fingers.

I froze. Dead? Then I saw his chest rise and fall. Only sleeping. I shook my head, what sort of place were they running? As stealthily as I could I hauled myself from the hatch and shut it. Judging by the amount gone from the bottle I could have just walked past him, but I crept north anyway. The cult lay on the ground floor at the corner of the north and east walls. The mage lived two floors above it. I hurried through the darkness until I reached another trapdoor back into the keep, I reckoned I was roughly above the cult shrine.

Inside was dark, the same musty smell permeated this bit of the keep as every other part. I started down the stairway, at the next floor I paused but decided I'd go down the same level as the mage. After descending I turned away down the darkened corridor, by the rust on their handles and the smell of damp most of the rooms were empty. I stalked twenty paces down it before I noticed the light which crawled though the cracks around a the third door from where I stood. My heart seized. The mage. I was already hiding in one of the door frames at the side.

Stop being so jumpy, I told myself. I was being paranoid. Even wizards couldn't watch so well that it was necessary to go halfway round the keep to approach them. I pushed myself upright against the cracked door where I'd hidden. It swung open. I looked inside. Nothing but cobwebs. But among the stoor an idea lurked. I liked it.

Moments later I was across the room. It was adjacent to the mage's. The window was stiff but I forced it and looked out. Sure enough light spilled from another only a few yards further along. I looked down. It was a long way, but there was an external beam in line with the floor level. I could probably climb along it. I looked again at the dizzying drop. A fall like that would kill me. But so would a mage, and I didn't intend to fall. I climbed onto the windowsill. My foot reached for the beam, I stretched for it but found only air. I eased myself a bit further. Again I flailed at air. A bit further. My toes met something solid but it was as slippery as hell.

To get my foot on it I'd have to be right out the window, past the point of safety. I took a breath and stepped. And slipped. I grabbed the sill and tore a nail from my finger. It groaned warningly but held. I took a couple of breaths. Still clutching the mouldy wood I swung my other leg over into the night. The beam was slippery but once I had both feet on it I felt more secure. But not so safe I wanted to let go of the sill. I had to though, so I gripped the side of the window instead, as much for comfort as anything. I didn't look down. Strangely it took an effort not to. I eased my way along the beam, one hand still locked on the side of the window like a child's hand on a toy. My heart pounded as I reached towards the side of the mages window. If I could reach both I wouldn't have to let go.

I couldn't.

I was going to have to let go for a couple of steps. I tried not to think about it as I willed my hand open. With a deep breath I shuffled reaching for the side of the next window. My probing fingers had just found it when a gust of wind swayed me. It wasn't much, just enough to distract me. I felt my left foot slip. A dreadful certainty fell, crashing down like treacle in my mind. Engulfing me with black fear. I lunged for the next window. My foot went. I scrabbled at it and got my foot back up. The side of the window frame crumbled rottenly away in my hand. But I was already moving. Before I'd realised I wasn't dead I stood outside my goal. Even better it wasn't locked.

It opened easily. I climbed in through some light curtains and crouched surveying the room.

"Quite an entrance," I froze, the voice chuckled, "Good effort, but never underestimate the paranoia of a Mages Guild member in a Telvanni town." His voice was like oiled silk. He was sitting at a desk facing me. I stood, "Don't reach for your weapons." He punctuated the remark with a little flicker of lightning from his fingers.

B'vek. I'd walked right into him. He wore a black robe. He was a breton. And the wan lamplight glinted on a white streak in his hair. This was my mark.

"Well, are you going to say anything? Or do you make a habit of climbing in though third floor windows?"

"I want answers," I said with more authority than I felt. I hate mages, you go to bash their heads in and don't know how dangerous they are until one, or other, of you is dead.

"As," he answered with infuriating calm, "Do I. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Ernard. Does the name Renera mean anything to you? I see that it does," I cursed how easily he read me, "Then am I to assume you were involved in something to do with the Guild up this way?"

"Yes," I said.

"I would dearly like to know what," this time it was his turn to give too much away. He was keen. And confident, too confident of his own intelligence.

"I'm not sure," I said, laying on just enough stupidity to make an impression, "It was a ruin of some sort, not that I'd know velothi from dwemer. There was a lot of magic there, especially round the fountains..."

"Yes," he eyes gleamed. Idiot.

"Well not really fountains, more... I don't know. It was like blue light in them, but liquid."

He was almost salivating, "Where was this. Could you find it?"

"Maybe," I said, trying to sound slow while my mind raced. I rubbed the lump of the windowframe which had come away in my hand, "I found a strange stone there. It seemed to work one of the fountains."

Hook.

"Do you have it," he was like a Khajit who'd been told the sugar fairy was coming.

"Ummm, I think so." I almost made a show of reaching for my belt. Then I paused, "You don't mind?"

"No! No! Show me."

Still holding the rotten wood in my palm I pretended to pull something from a pocket. Then I held my hand out in a fist. His eyes followed it. I stepped round the desk so there was nothing between us. He was too excited to notice. I let my fist tremble a little as he reached out. Then I opened my hand and dropped it.

Line.

The idiot let out a squeak and bent to catch it. His face met my kneecap coming the other way, I landed my hands on the back of his head just in time to give it a last push. I didn't give him a second before kneeing him again and then pulling a handful his hair forward and down to face plant him into the floor.

And sinker. He'd thought I was an idiot, and true he was more intelligent, but it was all brain and no sense.

I dropped on top of him though in honesty I needn't have. He was out of it, I think 'd broken his jaw on the first strike. I elbowed him on the back of the head for good measure before casting about the room. I didn't know much about mages, could he cast a spell with me on top of him, how long would it be before he had come round enough to try? I hate spellcasters. I had a nagging feeling someone had once told me it was almost impossible to cast a spell if you'd lost a lot of blood. It couldn't hurt to try. I reached for my knife.

Really interesting, just finished reading this one. Very good work, I'd say. So keep it coming, ya hear?


S.G.M

Thanks for the comments. This part was hard to edit to keep it's point while also sitting well with the whole PG-13 thing. I like the end result well enough though.

What does S.G.M stand for minque?


6. To an End

He was ashen white when he came round. I'd tied him into his study chair. A deep wound in one of his elbows still trickled blood into his imbrued clothes. My boots squelched slightly as I stepped in close to him.

"Don't try anything," I said. Fear clouded his eyes when they met mine, and well it should have, "I'm going to ask you some questions. You're going to answer."

His apprehensive gaze held.

"You were giving Dervas large quantities of gold. Why?"

"I didn't-"

"Lies," I kept my voice low, "Will not suffice." I held my temper, for the moment.

"What do you mean?"

"I know you paid my tab to keep me here. I know you were involved in the disappearance of Varnan, the other survivor of that damned job. You're going to tell me why."

"No. I am not." It was enough, I had the right man. If in a night of such black rage that mattered. The almost dreamlike state was back, maybe it had never gone. I knew what must be done, I didn't think beyond that.

I pushed my thumb through his left eye.

He screamed. "I paid Dervas to keep you," he whimpered, "I know about Varnan-" his own scream cut him off as I set to work. He'd had his chance to speak, by the time I'd finished he would beg me to let him. My soul shrivelled at what needed done, but the truth was more important.


Moonlight shone through the window, his face glowed in it. He'd been sick as I worked and it was smeared over his blood embrued clothes. He looked at me though an eye wide with terror like a huge pearl, the other was a shattered ruby. He looked at me and muttered to himself shaking. I slapped him.

"Listen," I said, gripping his throat. The shaking slowed but his breathing was as ragged as a beggars shirt, "You will answer the questions I ask. You will answer the questions I don't ask. If I even think you're holding something back I'll set to work again."

He nodded.

"Why were you paying Dervas?"

"To keep you here," his coughed and continued, his voice a little less reedy, "I was ordered to. The order came from high up but whoever gave it had concealed their identity. I don't know what you've done but you've stirred up a hornets' nest. There's hirelings and operatives all over the place, there's been a spate of killings back country too. All magical."

I nodded. This went right to the top then, but it didn't make sense. "Was the skooma you?"

"No." I waited for more, "I was told you were to stay alive, but sufficiently incapacitated. Most likely so they could study you if it came to it. You lead the expedition."

I decided not to bother asking what studying would entail. "What about Varnan?"

"The other survivor?" he swallowed, "The same order wanted him removed-" I reached for my knife, "Not killed. No he's alive." His panic was raw. "Someone else set it up, well most of it. Almost all of it. I don't know who, these are Telvanni lands, we have informers and agents everywhere..."

"Set what up?"

"He was sold." The mage's voice quivered. Fear dripped from him like sweat.

"What?"

"A slave train left a few days ago. I received the necessary papers and the train owner received the necessary bribe."

My knife was in my hand, I hadn't realised I'd drawn it. "You fetcher. You slaving s'wit. I haven't started yet."

He squealed. "I'll tell you everything I know. And what I suspect."

I stopped advancing but I didn't sheave the knife.

"The train was headed by Inren Dres, of that house. It's headed for Tear. Medium size, with enough guards. Their mage is rubbish, not that Inren knows it. He's a man of rich tastes and low culture, easy to track. He was headed for Helnim Wall. I don't know why the guild wants your friend alive but out the way, maybe they think you know more as leader. They'll come after you. I don't know what you were doing up north but I can guess, whatever went wrong it went wrong badly. I haven't seen them like this in years." The words came in a flood, any thought that he might be lying, or at lest holding anything back were washed away in the torrent. Tears ran down his cheeks. I felt faintly ill. "There's rumours," he continued, "That messy business up at Ness, and the attacks. It rarely gets this bad, even when the Telvanni are warring amongst themselves. And all since you appeared in town."

He let me put the rest together. I grimaced.

"It's all I know," he pleaded, "I can't help any more. There's money in the desk, just stop." The shaking overcame him.

I looked at him. Slaving scum, not just a trafficker either. He'd sold a freeman, somehow that was worse. I don't like slavers, even in my darkest moments I'd never worked for them. But now Varnan was in their clutches. Due to this man.

I rocked between thoughts while he begged and whimpered. But it was a man before me, scum or no. His skin, pallid under the streaks of blood and scrapes. The ruined eye. Another memory to stalk my dreams. In that moment I knew I was done. Quick as light my hand flashed out and opened his throat. His whimpers ceased with his pain.

It was over. The fire which had blazed so bright died. Had Meersa intended this? Was this what she'd wanted? I doubted I was the only one with fresh inspiration for nightmares. I at least did the mage the respect of looking at my work. I'd... extracted information before. But not like this. I hunted people who did this sort of thing. It had been necessary, I needed to rescue Varnan now. I was fighting for good.

But at what cost to my soul?

I took a sack of coin from the desk and left by the door. By morning Firewatch would not be a good place to be.

Story.Good.More

It's an old nord proverb! Made by treydoggie

7. Fresh Morning

In the bottom of a dry gulch I dreamed. Blood and fear and flames. I dreamt of the mage, only in the darkness of my mind he wouldn't speak so I kept at my dark business. On it went, my discomfort growing by the moment. I didn't want to continue. But I couldn't stop. I woke smeared with sweat. It was cold, the sun only just peaking over the horizon. For a while I just watched it rise and shook, the memories of the previous day cartwheeling in my mind. The work of a monster, I hadn't been myself. But I knew that I had known full well what I was doing, even the consequences. That's what hurt.

I sat up, hungry in spite of the sickness at myself. There was no food. I stood, with luck I'd find a farm somewhere on my way south who would sell me victuals. And maybe some skooma, a voice inside me whispered. It would make the dreams and guilt go away. The madness of the previous day had covered the withdrawal but I felt it now. No. I climbed out the narrow ravine cut by the stream. Varnan needed me. Slavers... I could still hardly believe it. The weak sun shone over the moors to my east, cold and hard. But in that moment I knew that I would rescue him, or die trying. I was finished with skooma, finished with the guild and finished with my old life. The events of the previous night would haunt me, and so they should. If I freed Varnan I would have at least some absolution.

I had a strange feeling as I started my southward walk. Not nice, but determined, more so than I'd ever been before. Maybe this was what they called duty. If so it wasn't as heavy as the crushing void which it had filled. The moors were more hospitable than the mountains to the north. I headed inland and as the day passed were ever more signs of people. Not the mad wizards of the north but actual people. In the more sheltered valleys guar shielings nestled out of the weather. Small paths, most likely left by animals, crisscrossed the ground which bore scrubby heather and grass. Initially I gave the occasional hamlets which occupied some of the more defensible hilltops a wide berth. Helnim Wall was about twenty-five leagues south of Firewatch, I didn't know its location any more precisely than that so I was going to have to go to one soon. That and I needed food if I was to keep a pace which would catch the caravan.

As the miles passed the land became more tended. There were some paths which looked like more than animals frequented them. I saw more fields on the less rocky slopes and the settlements moved from the hilltops to the valleys. Even so it was a surprise when I came upon a lone farmstead in the cleft between two hills. Smoke rose from the chimneys and a pair of guar stood in the yard. I approached slowly looking for any other signs of life.

The farm buildings weren't what I was used to. The single barn was heavily built and glared suspiciously through windows narrowed almost to arrow slits. The farmhouse was built onto the back of it, it had no windows. I was nearly in the yard before a dunmer stood from behind a pile of hay. He held a drawn bow.

"What's your business human?" he called in a thick accent.

I stopped, "I want to buy food."

He let the tension out the bow but only half lowered it. "Fine. Don't try anything though."

"I won't," I said and continued my approach. As I reached him he turned and crossed the yard to the house. The guars rose their large heads then went back to picking at the hard-packed earth. By the door to the house there was a handcart with a broken wheel and the remains of a bench.

"Take a seat," he said. I did and he sat next to me, "What do you want to buy?"

"What food do you have? Anything which will travel well."

"Where's you pack?"

"I don't have one," I wandered if he was thinking of robbing me but my worries were dispelled.

"I might have a blanket I could live without, for the right price."

"I have coin."

"Good. Wait." he scurried into the house. I looked over the small farm, it wasn't bad. The bench was rotten as hell but the spot was a sun trap and was warm in spite of the season. A few fields grew a variety of plants. There must have been a fair family in the house to tend it all. I looked up at the building and saw another dunmer watching me from one of the narrow windows. I pretended not to have seen and leaned back. They wanted my money, but I doubted they'd have the courage to take it by force. My legs were weary anyway, perhaps more than they would have been normally, a reminder of the events of the past few days. And what they'd lead to...

That train of thought was broken by the re-emergence of the dunmer. He carried a sizeable knapsack with a thick, if lumpy, blanket rolled on top. "I've packed it with scrib jerky, pickled kwama egg, and lots of saltrice. The sack, blanket and food for fifty coins."

I smiled at him, "Even in a shop that would be thirty, but I'll be generous and give you thirty-five."

"Forty and I'll crack open this shein and we can have a drink. I need a rest."

"Done," I reached into the bag I carried and made a show of raking around, they didn't need to know just how much gold I was carrying. I pulled out the coins and handed them to him, "Thanks."

He pocketed them quickly save one which he bit, "Mmm," he said, "Imperial coin. Thank you, its purer gold than the local stuff, much softer," He put the coin away and transferred his teeth to the cork of a rough ceramic bottle. It popped out and he took a swig. "It's good," he said, "I make it myself."

I braced myself for what was to come as I tipped back the bottle. The comberry wine was remarkably smooth with its classic sourness. Strong too. "Its good," I said, truthfully, "I have a question."

"Ask away," he smiled. The rest, or the coin, had done wanders to his friendliness.

"What's the best way from here to Helnim Wall?"

He looked at me speculatively for a moment, "Is best the quickest? Or the quietest? We don't see many travellers here."

"Quickest," I needed to catch up with Varnan, and I doubted pursuit would come that quickly, if at all.

"Then I don't know why you didn't stick to the road. Just go over the hill due east for a couple of miles and you should pick up a cart track which is your best bet. It joins the road about another seven miles south, then its a day and a half to Helnim."

"Thanks. Is there much traffic on it?"

"Well," he took a deep swig and passed the bottle, "It ain't a midsummer fair but there's a bit. A few travellers and a bit of goods for the south. Mainly lighter more valuable stuff. Otherwise its easier to take it round by boat even with the storms and taxes and all. I swear those damned mage lords will tax us all to our graves, or better theirs. The weather's always foul, and it's them I swear. Not that anyone cares about the farmers round here." I made a noncommittal noise and he continued, "There was a day they farmed up north, now I'm near the most northerly. And these attacks, well I can't be too careful but it's only more costs. But after what's happened in Stent and then there was old Enrol found strung up with his family. It's getting worse by the year..." he trailed off, "Anyway the road," he said, "It ain't over full but there's enough for it to be a bit dangerous. Highwaymen and the like. Fetchers all of them."

"Thanks," I took the pack and a last swig of the wine, "I must be going." My legs protested as I stood but I ignored them. Sitting drinking wine had got me, and Varnan, into the fix. And brought about the last night. I shook my head to dislodge the memory.

"Going already? Very well sera, good journeying," said the dunmer farmer.

"Thank you for the food, and the wine," I said and turned away from the farm and to the east.

8. Circles

I found the track the farmer had described in a broad valley to the east. It had seen brighter years though: weeds crawled over its potholed surface and the creak of a wheel was an alien sound. I walked quickly but with my mind turned inward, Firewatch would be in uproar. Meersa had healed me, had known I would stir the hornet's nest, even encouraged me. Now did she see how they stung?

Once I might have been proud. When I was young it would merely have reflected the satisfaction every man gains from altering the world, changing its very course, if slightly. Later I had known enough of that, but only then had I ever done jobs with effects as potentially large as what happened the night before, and never with such wild disregard. Then it had been the rage, striking a world for where it had left me. Perhaps the same could be said of Firewatch. I'd killed my way to a truth. I'd been in a rage, or ecstasy. A fey night.

And now the grey light of day extinguished the dancing flames and left only the screams, and blood, and horror. As it always would. A strike against a cruel world or against the one who lead me? The drab moors the unchanging path left my mind to wander. I walked and brooded, nursing my self-hatred like a beggar picking a wound. Miles passed. But even through the dark thoughts and creeping desire for skooma which burrowed like worms in my soul I saw the hint of motion on the road ahead. I stopped, my sword had already found its way to my hand and I stood ready. A large dunmer stepped from a couple of trees, the first I'd seen down the path. He held an axe and a dirk.

"Drop the sword and the pack and I might let you live," he said. A long scar twisted one side of his mouth. It might have scared some people, to me it just suggested he was incompetent even for a highwayman.

"Stick it elf."

"I shall not warn you again. Hand over your pack." His voice was low, and forced.

I shook my head, "You don't want to try. Disappear back into the trees and I'll forget about you. That's more than I'd have given you last week." It was true.

"N'wah," he screamed and charged straight at me, the axe over his head.

I kept an eye on the dirk, assuming the axe was a diversion. It wasn't. He was really that bad. I sidestepped and cut his fingers. The axe fell. As did his smallest finger, I shuddered. He screamed and rounded on me with the dirk. His strikes were quick but he telegraphed them and I wasn't pushed to block them. I could have killed him easily with the superior length of the sword, and had he been any good I would have. I knew it was stupid, I had every right to kill him. What about Dervas or the Mage?

The thought cost me. He blade nicked my forearm. I swore, knocked the dirk sideways and kicked the back of his knee. He fell in a heap. I put my boot on the dirk and the point of my sword to his throat. "Drop the dirk and then give me a good reason not to kill you."

He opened his hand and I kicked the long blade away. "Don't hurt me," his pleads sounded so similar to the others, "I wouldn't have you. I can help. I'll help you."

"You better not," I answered.

"I have things," he said, "We can split them, you can have half." I said nothing. "Three quarters," panic tinged his voice, "No, sorry. I'll give you it all. I can show you where it is."

"What makes you think I want anything you have. Now tell me; how far to the main road?"

"The main road? You're on it, near enough. It's on the other side of the trees."

"You watch the road."

"Yes."

"Seen much traffic lately?"

He paused, then his face lit up, "Of course, there was a tax shipment going south to Helnim but you've missed it. If you get a quick horse you might catch it before Tel Drenya. It had a few guards, I didn't dare show myself. But a fighter like you-"

"I'm not interested in banditry. The last few days going south. What have you seen?"

"Well, other than a few merchants and peasants," he spat the word, as if he wasn't one, "There were a couple of wagons. Done up like pilgrims but rogue Telvanni if you ask me. And the slave train, a few days ago. Biggish one, what with food being expensive up here, especially recently, the slave price has dropped so they're moving them back south again. Good money I'm told. North south, the lizards won't know if they're coming or going." He laughed.

I didn't. "Tell me about this train."

"What's there to say. Fairly typical. A good few guards, the merchant in charge - Dres if you ask me - the slaves. A few hangers on. I didn't notice much, they had a mage so I kept well hidden."

"Fine." For a moment I considered killing him. By his own admission he preyed on the weak, and I had every right. But was it just? The law was with me, there was not doubting that, but did I have the right to pass judgement. No. I couldn't. It would only fuel the dreams.

"Roll on your face," I told him. He obeyed, "If you move until I'm well out of sight you will die."

I turned from him and scooped up his weapons and left. Past the trees I came on the road, it was even surfaced with broken stone. I continued south checking behind me for pursuit. I saw no one. After a couple of miles I tossed the highwayman's weapons into a ditch. I couldn't help wandering if I should have killed him. Weapons are not so rare: in my compassion how many innocent travellers had I sentenced to robbery, injury and death? Would it not have been the just thing to do as the watch would have. But I'd been in the legion, I knew about justice.

After another couple of miles the sun began to touch the western moors and I settled for the night in a small copse of trees. I could have continued further but I would make Helnim Wall on the morrow either way and I wanted to spend a night there. I didn't bother with a fire, I was too wrapped in thoughts. How would I feel had I killed him? Worse. I was not a guard, my business was not to kill him. I tried to lay the thought to rest. I had done the right thing. There was a chill in the evening air which promised of worse to come. I mentally thanked the farmer, whose name I couldn't remember, if he'd even given it, for the blanket and wrapped myself into the nightmares.

Sleep was long in coming, black thoughts skipped with my dark mood. I wanted skooma, it lifted me from the depressions. But I would not have it. I would endure the mood and drink every last draught of it. There were decades bottled up. I was just getting to sleep when the first of the cramps hit.

***

The night passed in a series of half-dreams roughly torn apart by the cramps. When I wasn't trying to straighten out muscles full of hot nails my dreams were sickly. I was getting skooma, or trying to smoke it but unable to light up. I dreamed of my pipe, with the small dent in the coal chamber, the leaky water chamber. I doubted I'd ever see it again. It was like losing an old friend. Interspersed through the dreams were the faces from Firewatch, and from before, telling me the truth about myself. I knew if only I could find skooma they would leave me.

In the grey half-light before dawn I lay awake, not that it stopped the voices. They whispered just beyond hearing of the things I'd done. Insidiously stirring the dust from memories long buried. I lay still fearful of another cramp.

Crack. Another part of the dream?

No it was different. It was from outside. I blinked my eyes. A shuffling. Someone was trying to sneak up on me. My fingers found my sword. I waited for the person to get closer.

They crunched on through the copse, slowly. I caught movement but never a decent view for the bushes which covered the ground. Then the bushes were pushed aside and I saw someone crouched low. They carried a weapon. I leapt to my feet. A cramp threatened in my right hamstring but I staved it off and faced them.

"What's your business," I said.

"N'wah." The figure screamed and charged me. His weapon swung an arc in the air. Instinct took over. I stepped inside the arc and pushed my sword forward. It met resistance. I drove it home. The but end of his weapon crunched into my ribs and I swore. I pulled my sword free and kicked him over, already looking for anyone else. There was no one. It was over that quickly. I looked down at my assailant and saw the highwayman I'd spared the day before. Dead. By my hand. My reform confounded.

I had been wrong, I mused later as I continued south, I had not escaped the hold fate had taken on me. I had thought I done with killing. Firewatch had been the final flare of a dying fire, my horrific swansong. So I had hoped. Two days later the strings of fate had pulled me back into the old ways.

I'd left the corpse unburied. Just like so many. Another cut on my tattered soul, and no skooma, or even alcohol, to smear into the wound. Periodically I had to stop to break the worse cramps which seemed to build like embers in the knots of my legs. My appetite was gone. Except for the blessed white smoke of skooma. This was beyond the creeping thoughts and itches. This was a love burning me from inside. I think the only thing which got me up was the knowledge that in Helnim Wall there would be a bleak tavern, and in that tavern a pusher.

The thoughts played on the same like a cheap minstrel. I ignored the few other travellers I met while the miles slogged past to the grinding beat of my bootheels.

Appologies for the delay, RL has conspired to make life awkward recently but I'm back to posting now.


9. Opportunity

It was nearing dusk and the cramps in my calves were rattling fires. I barely knew. It was half an hour since I'd spotted the glittering lights of a large town. Helnim Wall. I rubbed my hands round each other as I went. It helped with the tremors which had been building since I'd not bothered with lunch. I couldn't face food. It made the withdrawal worse but my hopes of staying off had crumbled to disappointment. I couldn't give up. It had been stupid to think otherwise.

Helnim Wall was more typical for a Telvanni town than Firewatch. The houses were tumescent fungi bursting from the earth like warts on a corpus monster. Most were the normal two rooms but towards the centre there were a couple of larger ones. Their turgid forms were dark against the sky. The higher would be the town ruler, no doubt a mage and insane. The squat building below it would be a tavern. I headed for it as I passed the guard who stood at the edge of town. A few people were out on the streets, those few who didn't ignore me only scowled. Typical Telvanni: probably haven't been to the toilet in the last week and look like they've just stood in something horrible. They were right on the second part, Telvanni towns are horrible and the locals did nothing to improve my views of them as I made my way to the large building.

It was an inn, a cracked sign announced it to be The Old Toll. I went in and wrinkled my nose at the damp rotten smell which permeates mushroom buildings. It was well enough lit by several candles but in spite of the hour it was fairly quiet. I wasted no time in getting to the bar and less when I got there.

"Evening," said the barman.

"What have you got?" I asked rubbing my hands though each other.

"A variety of food and local liquor, I especially advise-"

"What else have you got?"

He nodded, "I wouldn't know what you mean. Perhaps Krelas will. Over there," he pointed at a corner table.

I turned from him and walked quickly to the corner. The pusher looked up, even for a dunmer his skin was grey and his eyes had a dusty look. A heavy user then. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Skooma," I answered.

He glanced round like a startled rabbit, "Yes," he whispered.

"How much for two bottles?"

His eyes widened momentarily, "Two? There isn't that much in the town."

"How much do you have?"

He took a moment to reply. "Three quarters of a bottle," again he glanced around. I wandered if the idiot realised that everyone knew what he was at, "But quiet... if the watch knew about that much even..."

"I'll take it all. How much?"

"Its not all for sale."

"I'm sure you can get yourself a fix elsewhere. I'll give you three hundred." It was a high price for what would doubtless be awful but I wanted it now. Haggling would take to long.

I think my knowing he was an addict shook him, combined with the price he nodded. He didn't say anything as he pulled a cheap bottle from his bag and passed it under the table. I ostentatiously counted a pile of coins onto the tabletop and enjoyed watching his ill face whiten. Once I'd done he scraped up the cash and made a sharp exit.

I took a swig on my way to the bar. It tasted bitter as sin but it felt like lust to drink. Almost already I felt my muscles relax, the bleating need drain away. I took another sip and sat myself by the bar. "A bottle of your best shein and whatever passes for food in these parts," I said to the barkeep. He cast me a disapproving glance and scurried away to the kitchen. I relaxed and went to take another sip of the skooma. I didn't care what the locals thought but it was possible they would throw me out if I lit up. The skooma was low grade and I could already feel the stomach ache which follows drinking the cheap stuff so I put it back in my pack. I had a fix and that was what I wanted. It was good the temptation of another bender had been averted.

I savoured the golden flame of the skooma until the barkeep reappeared with my order. Some sort of mushroom omelette - the Telvanni obsession with fungi borders on pathological - and a dusty bottle. I pulled the cork out and poured a glass. It was a deep red for comberry, one sip told me it was indeed good stuff.

"That's twenty gold," said the barkeep.

"How much for a room?"

"Another ten, fifteen for the best suite."

I handed him forty drakes, "I'll take the good one. Keep the change."

The dunmer nodded at me a smile emerging on his drawn face, "Thank you sir. I'm Balas Vavas."

I took a drink of my wine and a bite of the omelette. It was good, spiced in the way Telvanni do, but not so overpowering as it can be. "Mmm," I said, "This is good." Balas nodded, "Anyway what's the news in town?" I pondered repaying the courtesy by giving my name but decided to seem a little foreign.

"Here?" he laughed, "Nothing happens in Helnim Wall, well nothing much anyway, good thing too. Had a big slave train come though the other day. They weren't selling though, not that anyone has the money to buy up here. Quite a commotion though."

My ears pricked up, "Quite a few folk I imagine."

"Well there was when they came in," he gave a laugh which sounded like it had been collected and pickled for such an occasion. I could see him becoming annoying, "Right to-do. The leader, Inren Dres, is an utter boat. He had a few too many and fell out with the head of his mercenaries rather publicly. As a result he's lost his extra guard and just has his own handlers. Have to give it to him though; he daring to travel so lightly armed in this area."

It took a moment for the information to sink in. The slave train was poorly guarded, there might even be mercenaries kicking about for hire and with no love for its leader. I put another five gold on the bar. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Well thank you sir. I'm quite partial to mazte if you're offering."

"Put it on my tab, make it a double. And get yourself vintage."

"Thank you sir." He scurried off to pour himself a measure of his favourite spirit. I smiled, if his tongue wasn't already loose that should oil it.

"So," I said when he returned, "What all can you tell me about this slave train."

He nodded slowly and took a sip of his mazte, "It was a fair old size, I say maybe twenty-five, maybe thirty slaves, they bought a couple from old Master Niddas, looks like the rumours about his money problems are true... The leader, Inren Dres I think his name was, had perhaps ten of his own men, just handlers but I'm not sure about the number because they camped out of town. I do know they had an escort of another dozen hired mercenaries because they were here until yesterday drinking their pay. Went south I think."

"When did the train leave?"

"Three days ago, they were headed for Alt Bosara, I dare say to get a boat there."

"Any idea where?"

"Well he's Dres and by his accent his as southern as they come so I'd say Tear. I hear the slave price is much higher down there where its easier to feed them."

I nodded. "How long will it take him?"

"From here? A quick traveller might do it in three days but with a big train like that he'll be pushing for five, six more likely."

I was a very fast traveller, and by how long it had taken them to reach here from Firewatch they would be more than six, I could catch up and make my move. Whatever that might be. Still it only left me four days, at the outside. Not as long as I'd hoped for. I turned to my food and wine and after a bit the barkeep went to polish some glasses.

Next bit, as ever replies and criticisms are appriciated.

10. Duty

I took a while over the wine, the dose of skooma, albeit small, he relaxed me without any of the buzz of a bigger hit. The sun was well set but the bar was still fairly empty. Probably because word hadn't gotten round that the drunken mercenaries who are, almost universally, utter boats, had left. Eventually I finished the bottle and decided a second would probably help me sleep. I caught the bartender's eye.

"A second bottle if you would, and I'll settle up now." I handed him the gold and he gave me the bottle.

"Quiet tonight," he remarked.

"I thought it must be," I replied, "The mercenaries?"

"A bit but it was market day today. Hardly anyone's coming in from the outlying settlements just now."

"Really?" A few people had made comment about the backcountry being bad, but this suggested that it was a recent development.

"Well first there was Stent. I hear the whole town was found dead. Bit nailed to walls, corpses hung with their own intestines. And signs of magic everywhere. Then there was Ness, similar sort of thing but this time in broad daylight. And lots of isolated farmsteads have been attacked, but only in the last week or so. And then the day before yesterday news came in about Aldram. It's just a small village but they made a nice mazte there. Entire town was raised to blackened posts. The inhabitants were in a scorched mound in the town centre. Its a rouge mage I say and I'm not alone. Powerful one though.

"Any idea who?"

"None. Not even rumours. The odd old mage goes over the high side but it tends to only be the nearest town gets it, these aren't even near each other but that's not the strangest, news came in today about Firewatch."

"What?" I said, very reluctantly.

"There was a spree of murders," my heart sank, "Three in one night. And whoever did it was a sadistic whoreson. They say it might be connected. The first was a Camonna Tong brute, found beaten and left tied up to die of exposure."

I grimaced. I hadn't meant to kill Dalam.

Balas mistook my grimace and dove into the details, "They found him the next morning really beaten up, all bruised. But corpses don't bruise. He was tied up. But that's not the worst, gods know."

I knew. He was enjoying the telling a little too much.

"A barkeep, Dervas, he ran the Black Guar. It was a hole but I met him once, seemed alright. Not involved in any shady stuff. Anyway his place was torched an in the chaos he went missing. A smith found him in the morning really messed up. But it was the same guy, all the timings work out. He must have finished with the Camonna Tong guy and headed to the Black Guar. He took Dervas into a shed and smashed his leg up with a hammer, looks like he might have drowned him a bit. Not enough to kill him like, just to cause pain. Nasty eh? Then he must have set to work on the guy with a knife because I heard his hand was in tatters and he was beaten up too. He killed this one with a sword though - must've figured that the shed might offer protection from the elements."

I wanted to tell him to stop. I wanted to shut him up. But it would look too suspicious, and in a strange sort of way I felt I deserved it. Or at least owed it to the dead that I hear of my handy work.

"Even that wasn't the worst though. They guy must've been a professional because then he went to a local mage up in the fort," Balas leaned forward conspiratorially. Suddenly I didn't really want my wine, I didn't think anything was going to help me sleep then. Balas was too absorbed in the telling of the story in all its gory detail to notice, "The killer tied him up and bled him. Actually bled him, some people say he was a daedra worshipper or something, I hear they do that sort of thing but I have my own theory." he lowered his voice, "I think he might have been Dark Brotherhood, that's their sort of stuff that is. Anyway after that, or maybe before, he really worked the mage over. Cut off his fingers and broke bones. A few of his teeth were missing too and one of his eyes. They say he was made to eat it. It's hardly a wander people are afraid to go out."

Some of it was the usual rubbish which develops in the rumour-mill. But not enough. Not near enough. The skooma had brought some piece, that was gone and its sugar had the oily sweetness of a five day corpse. I wandered what I had been thinking that night. A dutiful rage had been on me, the idea of saving Varnan and myself, but it fueled only nightmares.

"Who told you this?" I managed.

Almost immediately I wished I hadn't. "A guy from Dervas's place. Even said he thought he saw the killer, new guy in town, weird like. Bad news, they called him that. Apparently he called himself Firen."

I was very nearly sick. I'd so nearly given this guy my name. They had my name. I'm not sure what it was: I knew I'd done the murders, but the idea of them staining my name was horrific, like fruit full of worms.

"Are you alright?" Balas noticed this time.

"Yes," my voice was weak, "I so nearly went there. And I need to be back on the roads tomorrow... Sorry I'll have to rest."

I staggered to my room and fell into bed.

I didn't find sleep for a long time. The murders and torture I'd committed chased my ruined name over the over the depression of my mind. Thoughts of my ineptitude danced with thoughts of Varnan's trouble. Surely it was worth it. I'd come so far now there was not turning back anyway. I'd saved him then abandoned him. In some way I was responsible, it was as much myself I was saving. But the images to go with Balas's descriptions hovered in the bedlam of my half-dreams, images of my own craftsmanship. Creations I remembered producing: the feel of knife on bone, the screams, the hot slick blood.

But behind the flying wheels of guilt and horror another terrible truth was dawning. The killings out back country were new. A mage was responsible. "I don’t know what I’ll do, what it will do.” Renera's parting words haunted my twisted sleep.

11. Choice

I sat bolt upright. Instantly awake. The tail of some nightmare evaporated with the dawn sun under the shutters. I didn't feel rested, but in the night I had come to a decision. I was running blindly, in Firewatch I might have thought I'd escaped the bonds fate had on me but I'd been wrong. At least this time I would find out as much as I could. The caravan was weak, I would find out how weak, and where best to hit it. It didn't take me long to pack, all I had were the clothes on my back, the sword and the sack of stolen gold. If I was going to be attacking the caravan I would need some armour at least, and a change of clothes once these were soaked in blood. I pushed open the room door to find Balas standing at the bar.

"Morning," he said.

I nodded, "I'm leaving today. Where can I buy stuff in Helnim Wall?"

"What sort of stuff?"

"Some supplies and some armour. And some information."

"I won't ask," he said, "Try the market for your goods, just go left out the door. For information... well I can guess. Telvar Senim knows everything that goes down in town, he's the smith, I dare say he'll be at his forge in the market."

"Thanks," I said and left. He looked slightly put out that I didn't tip him but I doubted I'd see him again.

The sun was low above the eastern moors, the morning haze chilling its blue light. I turned left down the main street and was almost immediately in the market, though the small collection of stalls in a hollow beside the inn was worthy of the title. Most of them were closed, or only just opening. The smithy was on the other side, I could hear the clatter of hammer on anvil. I walked towards it and bought a few bags of food on the way. When I arrived at the forge the smith didn't look up.

I coughed, "Telvar Senim, I believe?"

The burly dunmer stopped hammering and brushed some dirt from his apron, "What's it to you outlander?"

I put twenty gold pieces down on the anvil.

"You've got my ear," he said, but grudgingly.

"I'm interested in buying armour."

"Yes?"

Dour local, I thought. "What do you work in? I want lighter stuff, I need travel quickly."

"Depends how deep you're pocket is, and how long you have to wait."

"If you have any ready made-"

"I'm a smith, of course I do but I make them for dunmer not your sort. None of them would fit you. If you want them now I have an old leather suit should fit you, or some plate but it needs repairing."

"Can I see them?"

Telvar nodded and raked though one of the many chests behind him, when he turned he had two suits of armour, "This is the plate," he handed me a pauldron. Good thick stuff."

He wasn't lying. It felt like it would happily stop anything short of a falling tree, and even then it might. It also weighed an astonishing amount. I shook my head, "Too heavy."

"Fair enough," he handed me the leather. It was good quality stuff, a bit on the heavy side because the hides were thick and coated in a hard lacquer of some sort. But it was a nice piece, well looked after too.

"This'll do," I said trying not to sound to enthusiastic. I didn't really want to sacrifice too much protection for lightness and this was a good excuse not to, "How much?"

"Two hundred and fifty."

"No. As you said it won't fit your usual customers and there aren't any boots. The greaves are a bit flimsy too."

"You said you wanted to travel quickly. You need to move your legs freely. Two fifty or you can go elsewhere, outlander."

"These are worth about one fifty, but," I forestalled his protest, "I hear you know plenty about what's happening in this part of the world. Two hundred and you answer some questions of mine."

"Two fifty."

"Done." It was a nice bit of armour and I needed answers. Still my money bag felt rather light as I put it away.

"Thank you, if you're ever passing by and need a smith," he tipped his head, "Anyway these questions." The money had warmed him rather, I wandered how much less I could have gotten away with, but at least he was talking easier than the ones in Firewatch... I shuddered.

"A slave train passed though here," I said recovering myself, "When?"

"They came in five days ago, left two days later. Well the train did but the leader fell out with his mercenary escort so they were here until the day before yesterday drinking."

"How big was it, when it left?"

"Twenty seven slaves I think. Ten handlers, one was a mage. The rest didn't look particularly good fighters, just Dres bully boys, not that they were officially Dres of course. They were headed for Alt Bosara, I'd say they'll get there in about four days, probably to take a boat south. You wanted to travel fast, you might catch them if you're quick, or if they're waylaid. Once you've robbed it if you have any weapons to sell then come and find me. The leader was a fetcher, not that I care much. Good time for your sort I suppose."

He'd mistaken me for a robber. That suited me just fine, especially seeing as he didn't care. "Why would it be so good?" I asked.

"All these killings," he replied, "You must have heard. They'll just blame it on the witch."

"A witch?"

"Well," he said, "Don't know for certain but Telvar, he hears things, knows people. A hunter told me he saw a lone witch headed towards Stent the afternoon before it made the jump to ghost-town. There's a few other rumours too, by the look of it she's working her way south from up north. Stent, Ness, Aldram, all a bit south of the last. I know Hmaga and Illern aren't widely talked about but there were a few barns burnt and a couple of people disappeared. Her if you ask me. Anyway if I lived in Irrith I'd be making a sharp exit."

"Why?"

"Look at the way she's headed. Bad one if you ask me but Irrith is the right sort of place for her; out the way, smallish; a village. They were all that way. And I heard that someone saw her a bit east of here," he saw my blank look, "Irrith is two days south east, suppose that's good for you. The caravan will be on a different road so she won't get there first." He laughed blackly.

"No, tell me more about this. How would I get to Irrith?" It had to be Renera, maybe I could help her.

"You don't want to go there," he saw my expression, "Well, it seems a shame to waste such good armour... Take the road south, the Irrith road branches off it just out of town."

"How certain are you that she's headed that way?"

"Well my source is reliable so the signs point that way but when a mage looses it who knows? Suppose she might have some worthwhile stuff to take." he tilted his head again.

I took the armour and left. Things had been simple. Now they weren't. The caravan was weak, I could catch it and it was as good a chance as I was likely to get at rescuing Varnan. If he reached the docks... well I didn't even want to think. But Renera, for it had to be to be her, was killing innocent civilians in the local area. Only I knew what had happened, and in truth I felt somewhat responsible. The problem was of my making, so I had to sort it.

But there would not be time to rescue Varnan.

But Renera needed me. After all the years it was her.

I took a seat on a broken crate and put my face in my hands. Both were good opportunities, but I could only take one. I should save Varnan, was that not what my aim had been? I saw the sense in it but that might damn who knew how many to death if I did nothing against Renera. She had known me, I'd been the last she'd seen before... whatever happened had happened. Maybe I could bring her out of it. It's beyond your depth old man. It was true. But what was also true was that I dearly wanted to go after Renera. That only made the decision harder because I knew that going after her may be the right thing, but if I did it would be that sharp streak of self interest shining though. I would abandon Varnan.

They say they were nailed to walls and left hanging from the trees. Men, women and children. The words of rumour slipped back. I knew what I would do, perhaps I had since the first mention of it. I would go after Renera, for better or worse. I would abandon Varnan. Again. I only hoped it wasn't entirely down to my own desire to see Renera again.

***

I reached Irrith the following afternoon but didn't go into town. It was set in a hollow in dense woodland miles from anything recognisable as a road; six finger country if I ever saw it. There were about ten houses, a few women were outside gossiping as they worked while the men saw to the guar. I guessed some would be out hunting so I backed a little down the hill and skirted round the village and into the forest where I sat against a tree and continued watching. Clearly Renera hadn't been here, the question was had she passed it by or was she still to arrive. Yet again I wandered at the wisdom of trusting Telvar. It wasn't that I thought he was lying, but I wandered about his ability to tell fact from rumour.

Even so I had made my way as quickly as possible to Irrith, so it was quite possible I had arrived in time. I settled against the mossy tree trunk and took off my pack. Should I warn the inhabitants? It had certainly been my plan but looking down at them I doubted they would be any help at all. At best they would get jumpy and things would seem wrong, more likely they would panic. The vale was the perfect ambush, I could wait at the top with a perfect view and remain unseen. It was just a case of waiting until she showed up.

And then what? She might kill a few before I got down. An acceptable risk though if it meant I could catch her, and with her engaged in the chaos I would have as good a chance as any to get close enough to strike. I wasn't sure exactly what I would do, maybe seeing me would be enough. I didn't believe it though. I stood again and looked down into the Village. Children played among their mother's skirts. Men cut wood for the fires, butchered meat. A simple life. It was only later that I saw the similarity to another village; one in Cyrodiil from many years before.

I watched, and waited.

LOVE the prologe very good! i havent read the rest yet but i like it alot so far very good hook.

Again, fabulous storytelling. You really get inside the head of this character.

One small point: you have a habit of spelling "wonder" with an "a" instead of an "o". You see how this causes problems.

"I wonder what is going on?" v. "I wandered aimlessly about the land."

Other than that, I am once again impressed by this detailed picture of a rough land inhabited by rougher people.

Yes... My utter reliance on spellchecking shows it's head again. I'll endevour to watch out for that (and ensure that first drafts never see the light of day).

Anyway here's the next bit.


12. A Mirror to the Past

Stars appeared like points of hope as the world darkened. A meal of hardtack was all that broke the monotony of my vigil. The people had gone inside, lights still showed in some windows and the sound of drunken laughter drifted on the night time breeze. I pulled my cloak tight about me. Hours passed and I took a swig of skooma and a mouthful of hackle-lo to keep awake.

Even so I dozed. A muffled crack stirred me and I shook the tiredness from my head. I stared into the dark forest but saw no movement. Another broken twig, this one closer to me. Silently I rose and slipped away and down towards the sleeping village. A rustle of leaves. The stalker was inexperienced and probably alone. If there was another they were better. I glanced around but the dark trees held their secrets. I moved on back, near to a low timber barn at the edge of Irrol. Then I caught a glimpse of a figure against the sky, closer to incompetence than inexperience. Long hair, showed, but no more. A woman then, and no sneak either. A mage.

My heart beat faster. I'd intended to play it by ear but now cursed my lack of planning. I knew fine well she could tear me apart before it happened. But she hadn't seen me, and with luck neither had she seen my pack by the tree. I continued back, silent, towards the barn. It was low, more a shed for curing firewood than a proper building. Inside was black. I felt my way and crouched, sword ready to the side. My free hand found a rock on the floor. I waited, tense as a coiled spring.

I glimpsed the figure through one of the many gaps between planks in the wall. She wasn't being very careful now. And she was making straight for the shed seemingly unaffected by the darkness. I cursed inwardly. She was a skilled mage, of course the dark wouldn't help me. Even so I remained still, how well did their night vision work? I didn't know. She continued on, breaking twigs and stirring leaves marked her progress towards the shed. So much good had the villagers been in diverting her. I pressed myself into the deepest shadow between the door and a woodpile.

She was careless and walked right in. It was that carelessness that saved me, I knew I couldn't kill her, or even strike her without warning, without trying to cure her, to talk her down. I was about to say her name but the inattention didn't seem right. I looked again, the hair was a bit long, the stature to short and Renera moved more like a soldier than a mage, the figure did not. Whoever she was she was not Renera.

I moved in a flash before she had looked to my corner. The stone hit the back of her head and she folded, dark ooze seeped from the wound. In an instant I was at her side. She groaned.

"Who are you?" I hissed, the point of my dagger tickling her throat.

She tensed, about to try something. I pushed the dagger just a little and some blood seeped out. She relaxed again with a sigh, "They said you were dangerous."

"Who said?"

She paused and moved her head gently then shuddered. "I assume you're Firen Varian?"

"Yes." It was a long time since I'd heard my surname.

"I saw what you did to Ernard in Firewatch. If you promise to let me live I'll talk." She shivered.

"Who sent you," I asked. She paused, before answering and I thought I heard a noise on the breeze, "Are you alone?" I added.

"No," she replied, "But the other four are over the next ridge and weren't to follow. The Mage's guild sent us."

"Why?" I asked, mystified.

"Well there was Ernard," I looked skeptical and she quickly continued, "I got the impression there was something else, maybe a job, or something. Did you sell out?"

"Don't play with me," I said and ran the knife up her throat and along her cheek leaving a shallow gash. She stayed impressively quiet.

"I'm not," the whimper in her voice was one I'd heard too recently, "They didn't say why, just that you were to die."

I thought for a moment. What was I in? I knew what I'd seen but plenty didn't make sense, they'd tried to keep me but when I ran they were trying to kill me. I looked up again and thought I caught a glimpse of movement, but there was nothing. Just someone making a noise in their house probably, "Are you sure you're alone here?"

"Yes. I ordered them to stay until I signalled."

"What signal?"

"Red fire into the sky if I needed backup." Probably true, it was fairly standard guild practice.

"How did you find-" I was cut off.

Fire erupted from first one house on the opposite side of the town then just as I caught my breath the one next to it exploded. It was no normal fire, in an instant the damp wooden houses were infernos. Even at my distance I felt the blistering heat. Screaming yellow light cast sharp shadows in the low shed.

"What the hell," breathed the mage.

"What's your name?"

"Arrsa," she replied.

"Well Arrsa, you know there's been back country killings." I didn't wait for a reply. It was a statement, "Irrith was next in line. The Blackwater Company operative the Guild sent when it all went wrong is out of her mind. I was here to cure her, or stop her failing that. Now for the sake of these people help me."

I stood and hauled her up before running out into the wild dancing light and flames and heat. A house to my right exploded into fire. It was already too late for many of the inhabitants, others milled about terrified and confused in the town square. Then I saw her opposite. She wore the same clothes she had when she ran into the night, but the were torn and dishevelled. She looked far from pitiful though, a black madness radiated from her, her bearing spoke of power, utmost confidence. She raised her hands.

The spell made no sound. There was not even a flash of light. I think that's what made it so terrible, helped it to stand out in my bleakest nights above all the other horror I'd seen. The towns people simply started falling apart. And arm would drop, severed from the body. Blood would pour from the massive wound. People screamed as their limbs turned to mince, then stopped as their jaw or head fell off or when blood loss silenced them. Children clutched their mothers, then the embrace broke along with the sinew which attached their arms. Behind it she stood with eyes like caves full of capering shadows. Then I knew that if there was anything left of the woman I'd loved it was beyond any earthly reach.

But even so I tried. Perhaps a secret streak of romanticism, though more likely the black suicidal well in the depths of my mind, made me step forward. "Stop this," I called, "You remember me, please stop."

Another house erupted, its burning inhabitants spilled screaming from the door. My only answer. I turned, Arrsa was behind me, wide eyed.

"Do something?"

"Against her? I couldn't."

"Send lighting, if you can, then red sparks. None of this would have happened if you left me alone."

"but-"

"Do it, she isn't that powerful." I didn't know exactly what she was, but the lie worked.

Renera stood on a throne of destruction. The conductor of havoc. The mage lowered her hands and threw a blot of lighting. It struck squarely, Renera fell back and the infernos slowed and were just fires, unaided by magic.

Then Renera staggered back to her feet. "Call the others," I said.

"I can't," replied Arrsa, "That spell took almost all my magic."

"Do it." I growled, "Or what I might do to you will seem mild."

She nodded, white with terror. She made a quick gesture, her hands shook. A weak red flame sprouted but died. Renera, if the name could still be used, was easing her hands to cast a spell. Arrsa took a deep breath and made the sign in the air again. A plume of red flame leapt up and burst high in the sky. Renera stepped forward and swept a hand. A few frightened villagers hiding behind a chicken coop fell dead. She raised her hands.

Then fire burst from the house beside her engulfing her. It looked like lamp oil bursting but it was enough to knock her again. She stood, took one last look around then turned and fled.

I swore. A field of dead was all that remained of the towns inhabitants. The buildings burned. I had gambled them, and won nothing. I turned on the mage. "I was waiting for her. To stop her doing that." I was aware my voice had a maniacal pitch, "Why did you stop me? Are you happy now? She'll get to Alt Bosara now, then what?"

She shrank back, "What was - is - she?"

"The result of your messing around. Poking at things buried. That's what."

"There are five of us, I'm sure we can take her. If you wait for the rest you could help." Fear showed in her eyes.

"Nice try," I said and grabbed her, my knife at her back.

"But you promised-"

"Yes and trust a snake before a mother of mine and a mother of mine before an addict. But trust and addict before a mage." With the final word I pushed the knife between her ribs and let her drop off it into the corpses. She screamed.

I had missed the heart but didn't take the time to rectify it as I fled though the embers and fields of the dead. The last thing I saw as I left the town was a young boy, somehow alive, looking at the ruins and horror though wide tear-filled eyes. Only then did I see the similarity. Feel what I'd wrought. And as I ran and cried I also hated. I hated myself for risking it, but mostly I hated the Mage's Guild for causing it.

Finally managed to get caught up on this one, Olen.

Gritty doesn't even begin to describe it. This stuff is great, dirty, rugged, and cathartic on a number of levels.

Keep it up.

Uhh....jeez I like this one! A bit brutal but very well written! More please?

Cheers for the comments, it's appriciated. Yes I agree that part was brutal but it's part of the point of the story really, both in an action sense and in it's general idea.


13. Different Ends

The clear morning seemed to eschew the darkness of the night before. Yet smoke still rose in the east, the remains of Irrith. I'd followed Renera's trail for a couple of hours by moonlight but weariness overcame me and I spent a cold uncomfortable night propped in the bowl of a tree. My pack was still at Irrith, unless the mage's guild operatives had found it. Either way I didn't have it and so after a brief stretch I set off along the trail again. I'd gone barely two miles when I found the spot Renera had rested, the tracks after were fresher, crushed leaves bruised but not yet dead. She'd made scant effort in covering her trail and I started to feel hopeful again - by their freshness I would catch her before sundown, and more importantly before Alt Bosara. Of the mages I found no sign and assumed they must still be behind me.

The day stayed fine and cold but the sun warmed spirit. The signs I followed became fresher and I became more confident that this time I would catch her and could do something. I wasn't sure exactly what but it seemed significant that she hadn't killed me the night before, perhaps I could talk her back into her senses. I'd just have to play it by ear. My mind buzzed with a heady mixture of worry, plans and hope as the trail into a deep valley cut by a boggy stream at its base. Sparse scrub clung to the grassy slope I descended but the western side opposite looked less forgiving. Boulders clung amongst rocky outcrops just too green to be called a cliff. Still I could see a way up, it wound between two grey escarps like a green snake. The tracks made straight for it. I stopped briefly at the bottom and drank some of the cold stream water before fording it and continuing over the short flat by the stream bed to the cliff base. The tracks were a little confused, there seemed to be too many which doubled back on themselves or tried unlikely routes up the cliff face, perhaps it had held her up, I doubted she was much more than an hour ahead anyway. I ignored them and took the route which had seemed most obvious.

The footing was slippery and I had to push my sword along my belt so it lay behind me and stayed out the way as I half climbed the slope. Enough large rocks jutted from the steep ground to offer good purchase. They became more frequent nearer the top. The going was quite hard and I was surprised how out of breath I was by the time I reached the serpentine path of grass which curled like green smoke between the worst two outcrops. I navigated it and was about to start climbing again when something stirred in the corner of my eye. I froze. Nothing. Just the dancing ghost images from my pounding heart. I carried on up between the large boulders and slowly the ground flattened. I stopped on one and turned to look back down the way I'd come and catch my breath. I was admiring the cold, tree strewn moorland and the long sinuous valley when I heard something move behind me.

"Hello," said a voice, it wasn't a welcoming tone.

I turned slowly and caught movement from the corner of my eye. I dropped. The spell flashed though the air where my head had been an instant before. I looked and saw a mage standing next to one of the huge boulders their hands weaving another ball of maleficent light. I flicked my hand up throwing a cluster of grit and stones at the mage. The throw was well off but he flinched instinctively. I leapt into the gap between two boulders and scurried away between them. I heard him curse behind me and give chase.

A small ball of fire splashed on a rock I'd just passed. I jinked right and round another then left, the pursuing mage just behind. I ran along the gradient of the hillside leaping and dodging around stones trying to avoid offering a target for any magic. A breathless incantation then another spell. This one fell short and hit the ground with a dull thump spraying me with gravel. There was a large boulder just ahead, I risked a glance back and saw my pursuer just behind already casting. I jumped right down the slope and round the boulder, he held the spell. I ran a short way by it became steeper. With a sinking feeling I saw my way blocked. I heard the crackle of magic behind.

There was nothing for it. I glanced back to see the mage wreathed in ethereal light. I leapt at the cliff face my fingers scrabbling for holds that were barely there, my booted feet desperate for any purchase. I grabbed a tiny ledge and pulled, at the same moment I saw a jet of light stream from the man's hands. Time slowed, the spell split the air at a crawl, fizzing and spitting flickering streamers of magic behind its sharp front. It eased towards me like a lazy fish swimming after a hapless insect. I tried to power up the slope but I was heavy, slow. I saw my legs tense and push and scraped against the barren rock... They moved as slowly as the spell advanced. Then one found a hold and I was pushing up but at the same moment I knew I'd been hit. I felt the heat seep through my armour, and smelt scorched leather.

How bad? A flurry of activity in my head. Strangely detached from myself. My leg hurt, but seemed to work, the pain wasn't agony. Perhaps it had just brushed me, or the spell had been a dud. Then reality reasserted itself. It didn't matter. I struggled on up the cliff and hauled myself over the top.

And almost on top of another mage. My hand went for my sword of its own accord but it wasn't there. Behind you idiot. There wasn't time, the mage looked up, confusion plastered on her face. I flashed out with a left jab and she reeled, the following cross missed but a hook caught her cleanly. I brought in a final elbow and felt something in her face break as the first mage's head emerged over the cliffedge. I let the woman fall to the ground and ran on, away from the valley. I ducked and weaved.

The man showed exactly what he was and ignored his fallen comrade to follow me. I cursed and raised my pace heading west again. I heard him stumble and glanced back to see him picking himself up and running again. A moment later I saw my shadow before me silhouetted by the red light of a flare spell. How many were there? Their leader had said four, the truth? I doubted she were dead, a healing potion would have fixed the stabbing, but equally doubted she'd be getting up to fight any time soon.

I jumped another rock, cover was becoming sparser now. Then from a dense bunch of boulders directly directly ahead a red light suddenly blossomed. Another mage. I almost fell in throwing myself right and continuing in my new direction. Then from back towards the valley, a figure rose, light dancing in his hands. I dropped and rolled as the spell flew. It would have missed anyway. He pulled a slightly glowing dagger and ran to intercept me. I tried to push ahead of him but distance was on his side and my leg stung from the spell which had hit it. Just before we met I slowed. This time I drew my sword properly and slashed it across him slicing open his torso. He screamed and dropped his blade. Enchantment or no swords will still beat knives. Unfortunately I hadn't time to finish the idiot as a weak fireball ploughed into my back. I smelt scorched leather but it must have been small. I glanced back and saw the first mage wheezing and clutching his side as he tried to keep up. I ran. He didn't follow past the mage I'd cut.

I was tired, I didn't know if there were more mages. It wasn't hard to leave no tracks on the rocky ground and when I found a concealed hollow where a stream disappeared into the ground I stopped and hid and struggled to regain my breath. After a few minutes enough of the adrenaline had seeped away and I was no longer shaking. I heard the occasional shout and some disant walking but the mages seemed to have missed my refuge. Still I didn't dare to leave it as they were clearly watching out for me, waiting for me to break cover. As much for something to do as anything else I removed my greaves and took a look at my leg, the flesh was an angry red and sore to touch so I poured a small amount of water from my canteen onto it but there was little I could do so I put the armour back on and sat in the cold nursing my hatred.

This was meant to be part of the previous part so just a short one today. I blame the cold affecting my ability to think.


14. Hiding

The sun, already in the west when I hid, crawled down towards the horizon. The mages patrols were less frequent and their shouts less wild. It took an effort to stay hidden knowing fine well that with every minute Renera drew further away, I would be hard pushed to catch her before Alt Bosara now. If the mages hadn't stopped me I'd have already caught up with her, for better or worse. My thoughts turned down the same rutted track of hatred offering another permutation of bitterness. I'm not stupid though, I knew that they hated me just as much and that trying to run would only end one way. I would wait until dark to make my move. The sun continued its slow cycle while my mind rushed though its, faster, yet just as futile, circle.

Night fell, and in the dark before the moon rose I made my move. I loosened muscles which had gone to sleep and vaulted out over the rocks of my hideaway. I crouched and stared into the darkness. The weak light of a campfire flickered a way to the north, some would be there but not all. I looked a moment longer then moved west darting from rock to shadow and keeping low. In the black shadow of an overhanging boulder I paused, I heard something. Footsteps. A voice too, though I couldn't make out words. They were coming towards me, and their camp, from the south. I shrunk further into the gloom and froze, one hand on my sword. The measured steps continued to approach. Had I been seen?

I forced myself to relax, tension would just tire me. If they knew where I was they still had to get close enough, and there was little enough I could do anyway. I would assume they didn't. The footsteps grew nearer. The urge to run, or fight, rose. Anything but waiting like a rat in barely concealed hole. I crushed it but I was a tense as a lute string, my nerves hummed and my fingers quivered. I took a breath, but quietly. It didn't help. The footsteps were near now. I hardly breathed. Then I saw a booted foot and a leg only a couple of dozen yards from my rock. They hadn't seen me. Unless it was all a trap. I brushed away that thought. The walking man continued on towards the fire and I let out a shudder. I had to move, another encounter like that and there would be nothing left of my nerves. And no wander. Suddenly I wanted a dose of skooma very much, but my pack was gone. I crawled from under the boulder and out in front of another mage.

For a horrific moment we regarded each other in utter surprise. Then her face twisted in hatred, a mirror to my own. I leapt forwards and ran away into the scrubland at full tilt. I heard her scream in rage behind me, a fireball flew away to my right. A wild shot. I ran and cursed myself as seven kinds of fool, the skooma withdrawal was worse than I'd thought. Why hadn't I considered who the first mage had been talking to? Still if I held my pace for another hour and didn't take the most obvious route... I cursed again, I didn't want to run for an hour, and I'd loose all trace of Renera's trail. A few more fireballs flew but all in the wrong places and directions.

15. Running

In the end I just headed west for Alt Bosara. I hoped to pick up Renera's trail on the way. There was little enough doubt over where she was heading and if I was to have any hope of catching her before she got there I couldn't afford the time it would take to find and follow her trail. The mages hadn't chased me far, and with two of them injured they wouldn't be moving fast. At least so I hoped. I allowed myself to relax as I walked over moorland and through the clusters of trees which clung like warts on the barren landscape. Where possible I followed rough paths. Sometimes they were no more than animal tracks, others looked like they'd seen the work of men, or more likely mer, in the past, though precious little maintenance in recent times.

I was following one of the latter paths in a small wood when I found rather more evidence of Renera's passing than I'd expected. The pines were dormant for winter but still green and at first his clothes hid him amid the branches, but the dark stains on the ground, and the rank smell of spilled blood and excrement gave him away. He'd been a forester by his garb, and the axe which stood at the base of a tree. Now he was very much a corpse. Had I not already vomited all I had for lack of skooma I would have, instead I looked with a sort of grisly fascination at the work that could only have been Renera's, or whatever she was now. Thick strands of intestine, like blanched snakes, spilled from his gut and were entangled in the branches. He dangled from them, dripping blood and swaying listlessly in the breeze, and obscene decoration. His eyes bulged and his face had a tinge even bluer than dunmer skin usually is. I wasn't sure exactly how he'd died, and I was fairly sure I didn't want to. I looked away from the corpse and to the ground. The trail was a few hours old. I left the body hanging, even had I cared there was neither shovel nor time. The crows would take him soon enough, like the sky burials of the desert people in Hammerfell.

The path got better on the other side of the clearing and bore steadily west. The moonlight was strong and the marks of Renera's passing clear. Freshly crushed plants, scrapes in the moss on stones and even footprints. I amended my guess, these tracks were a whole lot fresher, two hours at most, maybe less. I quickened my pace, almost to a run. I jumped over fallen trees and forced though knotted tangles of briars which clawed at my clothes like twisted hands. I forced on ignoring the frost-blasted remnants of stinging nettles and the slimy puddles which lay stinking in my path. How far was Alt Bosara? How long would it take her to get there? How fast was she moving? Questions danced through my mind but the were all aspects of one: could I catch her before she reached civilisation? And close on its heels, what would happen when she got there? So far she'd only struck tiny backwaters, I only hoped the reason was that she wasn't powerful enough to take large towns.

The trees thinned. I followed the path up the slope and paused at the top. Moonlight shone on the silver land below, and glinted of the not-so-distant sea. My wheeling thoughts broke free from their axles and skipped away, shattered. Below me on the night landscape the dark line of the road cut through field and forest towards the darkly glittering sea. At that juncture of land and water stood the tangled towers and tumescent fungous dwellings of a Telvanni town, like toadstools emerging from rotten wood where it lies in water. I gazed at the road but couldn't make out whether anyone travelled it or not.

Once on the road I ran, tripping roots and clawing bushes were no longer a risk, and neither did I need to conserve my energy or worry about the skooma cramps ruining a muscle. It wasn't far to Alt Bosara, either I would catch her or not. Few people travel the roads of Morrowind by night, and those who do are not inclined to talk. I only passed a couple of travellers and stopped for neither. One was a shadowy figure, alone and clearly male. His armour was black leather, like mine, but unlike mine even the metal fixings were blackened and it had fringes to break his outline. Many knives and daggers bulged under his cloak. The others were four men leading ten guar, they were armed and dressed rather better than normal merchants, and the baskets the guar carried were wrapped away from prying eyes. I had no interest in them.

I rounded a corner to see Alt Bosara before me, two watchtowers flanked the road where it entered the town and in the light of the torches I saw a pair of guards keeping watch. One stamped his feet against the chill. A movement on the road between us caught my eye. I stopped to look. For a moment I saw nothing then I saw a figure silhouetted against the torchlight. Had it not been for the glow of the town it would have been completely invisible. Could it be Renera? I'd thought the same for the other travellers, but that didn't mean this wasn't. I ran on but lost sight of her as I panted.


So it was that I arrived at the entry to Alt Bosara, sucking air and sweating despite the night cold. A guard approached.

"What's your business in Alt Bosara?" he asked.

I panted for a moment while I formulated a suitable answer. "To find," I paused to breathe, "Some shelter and then maybe a boat south."

"You are not Telvanni." it was a statement.

"No."

"There is a charge for outlanders to stay the night here."

"I am meeting a friend here. She probably arrived in the last few hours, quite tall, black hair, green eyes." I was pleased with the ruse.

"Flerith," the guard called to the other, "Have we had any human women through today?"

"Don't think so," the other guard answered.

"There you go."

I nodded, "Very well... You haven't noticed anything strange around town have you? In the last few hours?"

He gave me a quizzical look, "No... Why, you planning something?" He took a step forward.

"No, no. Just well... There might be a rouge mage headed this way."

The guard guffawed, "Of course. That'll be right."

"Keep an eye out," was all I could say. I started into town, she was here, and I would find her.

"Not so fast," the guard put a hand on my shoulder, "We need to put you in the ledger. What's you name?"

I brushed the hand away, "F-" I turned it into a cough. "Sorry, it's Hassius Johanson, messenger by trade." People tend not to get in the way of messengers, you never know who they're delivering to.

"Very good," the guard turned away and black into the shelter in the lee of the fungus.

I hurried into the town, with luck there would be a tavern where I could get a hit of skooma and some answers. Ideally without being arrested in the fights which would no doubt follow when people discovered I had no money.

16. The Fire of the Moment

On my way to the tavern I realised just how badly I needed skooma. I'd put the shaking down to tiredness and the pace I'd held but if anything it got worse as I walked across town. My arms itched furiously too. I ignored the first, more upmarket, tavern I passed and walked down towards the docks. I tried to look for anything amiss, any sign of Renera. I could barely concentrate for the mere thought of skooma had me squirming for a fix. I cursed myself and my addiction; not for the first time, but with unusual vehemence. Near the harbour there was a rough looking establishment, the red lantern by the door promising more than just drink. I entered, hoping for information, looking for skooma.

Inside was the same as a thousand other dockside taverns: dull, dank and dilapidated with an overgrown sense of its own importance which, doubtless, only exacerbated the locals own inflated egos. Before I had a chance to enter the main bar I heard shouting from a back lounge. I went to investigate and found a small reading room, a couple of bookcases sat by the walls. A half played game of cards lay abandoned on a table, several people stood in the room arguing over a number of vials on the table. There were three pushers, easy to spot in their affected finery. Four dunmer surrounded them.

"You owe us three thousand," one growled. I assumed he was a smuggler.

"We paid in advance."

"Only two thirds. And there's transport-"

"Get lost s'wit."

"The house will not be pleased..." said a smuggler, he was clearly in charge. His clothes were better and his hair was oiled back. He also looked more intelligent than his larger cronies.

"What house? It's dead, just a group of jumped up smugglers-"

"N'wah. Four thousand or you might meet with a little accident."

There was a pause. I stepped forward, "Is there a problem here?"

"Piss off outlander before I gut you," said the lead smuggler. I met a pusher's eye. He gave the slightest nod.

I stepped forward and before anyone reacted punched the nearest smuggler in the side of the head. The punch was a thing of beauty, a flash of fist which caught him right in the temple. He fell forwards, out before he hit the ground. The lead smuggler's expression went from anger to shock to pain as I drove my knee into his crotch. He folded, hitting the table and sending cards flying.

By then the second two smugglers turned on me. They advanced as I fell into a stance, ready to move to the side. There was a flurry of movement behind them and one staggered in an explosion of glass. A pusher jumped back clutching a hand he'd sliced open on the breaking bottle. He turned to face the attacker and I leapt forwards with him between me and his accomplice. I landed a quick cross then a hook from the left but the second cross missed. He swayed but stayed up. I took a step back, he was one hard fetcher. He swung a massive punch but what it had in power it lacked in finesse, I ducked under it and poked him in the throat. He staggered back and into a chair wielded by the pusher with the bleeding hand.

The final smuggler looked at us then drew a heavy mace. I drew my sword, "Try it," I said to him. I didn't try to look menacing, I didn't need to, "There's four of us and one of you. Lets see how it goes."

He took a slow look at us the swore and ran away.

I stepped over the, now vomiting, lead smuggler and turned to the pushers. I waited for them to speak.

"Alright," said the first, "That was pretty good. Callan's the name." He made the Camonna Tong sign that I recognised from a couple of jobs I'd done for the Hlaalu. They probably weren't much worse than the smugglers I'd just kicked around, I comforted myself.

"I'm not a member," I said.

Callan raised an eyebrow, "You aren't now? Then why did you just help us out against those fetchers?"

I looked pointedly at the table with the little vials. Each was marked with the crescent moon of Elswer.

Callan nodded, "I suppose we could cut a deal..."

I cracked my knuckles, "I just saved you some money. And got you a bit more respect - good work with that chair by the way," I nodded to the dunmer with the bleeding hand, "But hold the other end of a bottle - so I was thinking you might give me a cut. Just a small one mind you."

He looked dubious but the third, and as yet silent, dunmer spoke up. "It's a pity to lose a supplier but old Vernil here was getting a bit to big for his own good. Weren't you," he stepped over the lead smuggler who lay in his own vomit and casually put his heel on some outstretched fingers. There was a crack and the prone mer whimpered. "Now piss off." The dunmer half staggered from the room clutching his hand. "So," continued the mer. The lamplight cast shadows off a nose which spoke of violence as did the scars around his cruel mouth, "As head of the Camonna's operations around here I, Golen, would gladly give you two vials for your help in this matter. Perhaps you would consider helping us further? I'm sure we could come to an... arrangement?"

Two vials! I'd expected a fraction of that, still I had no doubt it was to lure me in, and if this was how they recruited... Well I'd crossed paths with the Camonna in the past and had the sense to let them be. This was no exception, "Thank you, but I'm afraid I have urgent business-" I took a vial from the table broke the seal and uncorked it before taking a sip. I blinked, it was strong.

"Careful," warned Golen, "We haven't cut that with anything yet, its still at full purity. Anyway if its trouble with the guards that can be dealt with I assure you."

"No. I'm looking for someone but the guards couldn't help..." I let it hang.

It had the desired effect, Golen laughed, "No surprise there. We have an arrangement, and that involves them doing as close to nothing as possible for a little more... pay," I was starting to hate the greasy pig but if he was who he claimed to be he'd be useful, "Now myself, I know things. And people, it is my business to. Perhaps if we help you..." he tilted his head.

"I'm looking for a woman, human. She'd have arrived here in the last few hours."

His lip curled, "Anyone could walk in or out of this town. What's she like."

Here we go, I thought but I'd wasted enough time getting the skooma. "She's a... witch," the word tasted sour, "She was responsible for Stent, Aldram, Irrith... I think-"

"What's that about Irrith? I've family there," said the mer with the cut hand.

"Not any more you don't," I said, "The towns dead, I saw it. And I followed her here."

"Dead? You're lying," his tone convinced me he wasn't sure.

"She's here now. She needs to be-"

"Here?" said Golen, it just sinking in. "Malacath's balls. Did you tell the guard."

"Yes."

"And they did nothing. They're useless. What do I pay them for? Follow me." He strode out the room, I scooped up another two vials, bringing my total to three and followed. The other two didn't notice.

Outside we had to go a short way up away from the docks to find a guard. When we did Golen strode right up to him. The guard stood to attention, "You. Tell the captain there might be a dangerous witch in town, the one who did Stent and Aldram, or so my friend here says. And have him send a group out to Irrith. Go."

The guard went.

"Are you sure you're right?" he asked, "This is going to be bad for business unless-"

There was an explosion from down by the docks. The harsh yellow light briefly cast Golen's cruel face into brutal relief then faded. I turned. A yellow glow shone over the tangled buildings and clouds of mushroomy smelling smoke rose into the night sky blotting out the stars.

I turned back to Golen but he was already running. I sprinted after him.

Ah, excellent work once again. I look forward to seeing how this plays out.

17. False Light

Pandemonium ruled. People ran, or staggered, depending on their level of inebriation, along the harbour-side, all in different directions, like a stirred anthill. At the south end a warehouse burned, the mushroom like dry tinder. The stagnant pools of salt water which covered the ramshackle quay reflected it like a hundred tiny fires. Some people tried to put out the burning building but most were more concerned with batting out the sparks which landed on their own houses or boats. I cast about the darkness for a moment, Golen had already vanished. Then I hurried towards the fire.

Someone emerged from the crowd, "Take this bucket," he sounded desperate.

"Stick it," I said and ran on. I tried to ease the tension in me but couldn't. Any moment, something kept saying. Any moment another fire would erupt, or a flash of light would crush a bunch of the scurrying ants. Nearer the blaze the scene was stranger, the frolicking flames painted the sweating faces a ghastly yellow. Soot and brimstone fumes rose from the burning goods. Momentarily I was reminded of the tavern in Firewatch, but the comparison didn't hold. These were more akin to the fires of hell.

Ships nearby were attempting to cast off, though many were becoming stuck on the harbour bottom at the low tide. A couple already burned, their sailors giving up the fight and leaping from the sides into the inky waters. I cast about, looking for anything wrong. What might she do next? Then I saw a figure, hunched, walking away from the spreading fire. It didn't move right, didn't seem to share the panic. I started after it.

In the false light it was hard to keep her in sight. People jostled and pushed, I punched and kicked, and vanished before there could be retaliation. The crowd boiled and swirled, eddies pushing me towards or away from my goal like fickle ocean currents. I forced my way through, and tried to divine where she was headed. It seemed like she was making for the harbour itself. I pushed a small group aside and the crowd thinned. I sprinted, a group of sailors worked on a boat in front of me. It looked like they were dumping their cargo to lighten the boat enough to get it out, while also trying to keep the sparks which fell like glittering rain from igniting the sailcloth and caulking. She was making straight for the captain and a couple of others who stood by the gangplank.

I realised what she was doing.

I cursed and sped up, the wet cobbles had a slick film of wet ash on them and twice I nearly fell. She was much closer. Then I felt something under my foot. With a senseless fascination I realised it was a broken creel as it slipped away. I crashed down onto the cold cobbles in a heap. My elbows hurt, I made them work just in time to see Renera, for I had no doubt it was her, reach the trio by the gang. She said something.

The captain made a motion which looked like go away.

There was a short heated discussion at the end of which the captain turned his back. I was up and running again. An instant later he started clawing at himself, my insides sank but I watched, then quite suddenly he appeared to turn inside out. There was no other way to describe it, one instant he was clawing at his throat and chest the next he was twisting, breaking and then falling to the ground, a mess of organs and blood. The other two took a step back. One held out his hands warding away Renera, the mate I assumed. Then he was nodding and they all got onto the ship.

I tore my gaze from the tatters of the captain and ran after them, but too late. Already they were casting off and, with remarkable speed, heading for the harbour mouth. It was narrow enough to be worth a shot, I put my head down and ran with everything I had. My feet skittered over the slick ground, I ignored what might happen if I stepped on another creel, or old fish, or any of a hundred things which lie around docks. Just as I ignored the burning cinders which fell and somehow seemed to find their way down my neck or through gaps in my armour. I glanced over to the dark water and saw the boat struggling to navigate round another which had become beached. One beyond fell over and broke up as if hit with a giant fist. I wandered what the sailors made of having a witch on board. Not all bad luck curse her.

I rounded the corner onto the breakwater, my feet slipping. I recovered my balance and ran, all I had to do was make the harbour mouth before them and I could be on the boat. Briefly it crossed my mind that these might be the final seconds of my life. I had no time for the thought though, just as I cast aside the idea of gaining some speed by dumping the skooma bottles: it was good stuff. To my left in the harbour a couple of other boats were sailing out. They should have delayed Renera but her boat pushed the lead one aside. I heard the crash and the swearing sailors. Only two hundred yards, but already I could see I'd need a miracle. The boat was faster, and closer. Perhaps if I hadn't already ran and walked so far... But I had, and I wasn't on good terms with the gods. The ship left the harbour, with me still running to reach the mouth.

I'd failed.

There was no point in stopping. I'd just run on and into the black waters. Lets them swallow me, enveloping like a lover's arms, smothering like a mother of mine's perfume. But self-preservation acted for me and I tried to stop. The film of rank seawater which covered the polished cobbles offered no resistance. I skidded trying just as desperately to stay up as I did to slow but it as too late. My foot felt the edge and then nothing. It is not easy swim in armour, impossible even. Drowning held a strange terror for me. The second ship was close behind the first. Very close. I fell with a shriek I didn't expect and braced for water.

Wow! Intense!

Cheers for the comments, there's still pleanty more of this to come, as ever any critique is most welcome.

18. Rest

I got wood.

Rough boards. The metallic tang of blood. Pain. I tried to piece it together, the parts like a reluctant jigsaw. I was falling. Yes. In to water. Through the air. Water! Air. Drowning.

No. I tried to collect my thoughts. Might as well herd clouds. Wood not water. Wooden boards.

A boot prodded me. I ignored it. Go away, I'm trying to think. It touched me again, insistent. My mind coalesced, thoughts all running together to one place like wine in an inverted bottle. Another prod. I looked up. More planks then a rail, and a strange post rising from it out of view. And closer a boot.

I moved my hand up to my face. My lip was split. I looked up and saw the owner of the boot looking down at me. He said something. I blinked, my thoughts untangling themselves. I was on a boat. The nord whose boot had prodded me, I still hadn't quite forgiven it, was probably the captain. He spoke again.

"You're awake then, and about time. Would you like to tell me what that little show was about?"

"What?" I asked.

"Honestly I'm not sure," he said, "I was just relaxing in my cabin with a bottle of brandy when the warehouse bursts into flame. Just like that," he still sounded a little shocked, "No build-up or nothing. People are everywhere, running and screaming; well I gets my crew and decided to sail away before the Breaker's Grace, that's this ole lady," he motioned to the deck under me, "Catches herself. Then I get rammed by Arethi's tub and you're running down the breakwater shouting and screaming. Next thing I know you're hanging from the futtock shrouds and then falling onto my deck." He paused, apparently out of steam.

"What?" I said, then shook my head violently, some of the fluff disappeared from my thoughts, "The boat that rammed you where is it?"

"Looked like it was going south, Arethi was bound for Vvardenfell, not that its relevant..."

I remembered what Renera had done to the captain of the boat she commandeered and shuddered, "I don't think he'll be going anywhere," I said.

The captain paused. "Quite. Now would you like to explain what happened, if you know? Then we can get onto why I should have you on my ship."

I sat up and looked around, the boat was a fair way from land. I wandered how long I'd been out, half an hour, maybe. "I've been following a dangerous mage for some days now, she was responsible for he killings backcountry. It was she who started the fire, presumably so she could steal a ship in the turmoil. The captain of the ship she chose, Arethi from what you say, wasn't keen on whatever she proposed. So she... dealt with him. I was trying to catch up with her but wasn't fast enough to jump to her ship and didn't stop in time to avoid yours."

"There's a story here, quite a story, but I think I'd rather hear it inside. Come down below deck and tell me over a meal," he turned, "Oh and I think these are yours," he threw me the skooma bottles.

***

I'd told Hulgar, as the captain introduced himself, a version of how I'd come to be on his deck, omitting, of course, the ruin, any details of Firewatch and various other bits and pieces to make myself look at least half respectable. Once I finished he was silent for a time.

At length he said, "That's quite a story you have yourself. I doubt that's all of it either, but I shan't press and what you've said is enough to convince me. No one would be stupid enough to make something like that up," he laughed and took a swig of mead, the sickly stench of the stuff was choked the small cabin, "There's no way I could catch up with Arethi's boat, she cut her own bowstring in killing him, he's a fast sailor, but it's still a fast boat and I saw them jettison what they pretend is cargo. It's a smuggling ship really, from what I hear he specialises in dwemer stuff, not that I'd let any of that stuff on my ship, bad luck they say. Anyway without the weight they'll be moving some and honestly even if I could catch them from what you say I don't want to. Still a story like that deserves thanks so I'll give you a cabin down as far south as you want, well at least as far as Droynyon Bay, about forty leagues north of Tear. Any further is Dres water."

I nodded, only slightly surprised by the large nord, he didn't strike me as the type to throw me overboard and from his reactions I suspected there was more between him and Arethi than he'd said. "Thanks," I answered, "But one question. Did you notice a slave train come through Alt Bosara a couple of days ago? About ten Dres heavies with a mage and maybe thirty slaves?"

He glared at me, "I saw that scum, what about them?"

"Where were they going?"

"They had a ship waiting, Dres boat so south. Some of my crew gambled with them, loaded dice of course - normally I'd not allow it but the Dres get what comes to them. They might have said but I'd wager a fair bit they were headed to Tear. Why?"

"They're involved in this too. I have... business with them."

He put down his beer, his face serious, "What kind of business. If its the kind I don't want to know about I might have a contact for you. If you intend on buying, well." He cracked his knuckles, "No doubt you know how to use that overgrown knife," he nodded to the sword at my belt, "But I have a crew backing me up."

"You won't need it, I have no intention of buying anything." I gave a predatory grin.

Hulgar only nodded.

After putting what little I had into the small cabin I'd been given I had a quick smoke then went to talk with the crew. They were clearly somewhat apprehensive of me but interest generally won out and I spent the evening drinking and laughing with them. I also discovered a bit about their captain; none of them knew why, but he hated slavers with a passion. Even to the extent he refused to deal with the Dres and had even killed a couple in his time. I decided not to pursue it any further. When later I made my way, somewhat unsteadily, to my cabin with the warm glow of drunkenness and the promise of a good bed for the first time in what seemed like ages I realised how much I missed the camaraderie of the guild. I stretched out on the mattress and timed my breathing to the gently rocking swell and dropped into a sleep I deeply needed.

***

I was in Irrith again. The dark wooden houses and barns crowded out the meagre light, and somewhere out in the forest something slouched in the gloom. I knew it approached, but I needed to see it, to catch it: I did not warn the townspeople. I could not have them stir from the warm fires and good food to run like panicked sheep from a burning barn. The beast, I could not remember exactly what I sought, must not know I was there, so the townspeople must act as if unaware. They must be unaware. I waited, my nerves vibrating in my tension. I looked into the blackness under the trees, and saw nothing. I glanced behind myself but shook my head. Only shadowy phantasms, drawing away my gaze like a sailor to the rocks. It would not come from that side. Probably. I controlled my ragged breathing and tried to relax. It would be alright I told myself. A promise full of worms. The shadows behind continued their nightmare mockery. I shuddered. It would be alright. I waited. And watched.

A stir, like darkness congealing. My blood curdled, I felt sick but had nothing to vomit. The beast emerged from the woods, it wore a coil I knew. Renera, but I was deeply sure she was not there. Inside was the darkness, the nightghast, the fear and hopelessness of the grave assured, the despair and terror. I had found my beast.

Fire, screams and dust and ash.

Morning. A bleak sun afraid to see the work of the night. Burned buildings and broken bodies. A village wiped away like so much dirt. I stood and I wandered which had been the worst monster in the forest. I had responsibility. Blame for the deaths and the destruction; a sour taste, even for my mouth. Then amid the broken rubble a sign of life. Bruised and terrified a child unfolded from the dead ruins like a spring plant. My heart sank. But already I knew I dreamt. The illusion fading as I departed. I caught a final glance of his bewildered eyes before he was gone. But it would be alright.


I awoke in the creaking belly of the ship and sat up. My face fell into my hands. The boy had been the same one I'd seen as I ran from Irrith, but I remembered another little boy, far away, in Cyrodiil, more than three decades before. I remembered the ruins of another village, if I thought back I remembered looking at the clutter of a life destroyed.

But something last night had changed. I thought of the words of the forester who had found me half starved in the wilds so long ago. "Depression is just anger without enthusiasm." I still remembered the words after all the years and all the horrors they'd held. I don't think I'd understood them at first, but overtime I'd wrung meaning from them and it oozed forth like blood. Those few words entailed so much more than at first glance; just like a fresh corpse. Now was their time, their sense sung to me and drew me on. I felt I teetered on an edge between what I had been and what might be. The words drew me like a lodestone, the last tiny effort needed to tip the balance. A dreadful, dark force.

Now I recalled the words. Now I would live by them. And my rage began to grow.

The story changes direction somewhat now so if you've got any overall comments on the first 'act', as I tend to refer to phases of stories, I'd be interested to hear. Also how is the post length/ frequency? As I think I've said it's all written and half cleaned (the final polish being directly before posting) so this can be varied easily. Thanks for reading

19. Lighting the Way

We arrived at the port town of Droyn seven days later. During that week I became increasingly sure that the crates of redware in the hold were for the excisemen and the ship was actually smuggling. I also suspected that the larger argonian portion of the crew, and the fact Hulgar spoke argonian fluently had something to do with it. I quickly ruled out any other passenger but I couldn't work out what they were into, and in the end I decided I didn't care.

Although at the far northern extent of their influence the town had a distinctly Dres look from the water. The whitewashed buildings had blue windows and the richer ones had pillars and the domed roofs which the Dres favour. Closer I saw that the market reached right down to the docks so incoming ships wasted no time before engaging in the favourite activity of the Dres: commerce. Before we had even tied up a small rowing boat had sailed alongside offering fresh fruit and sweetrolls. But in spite of its varied grandeur I couldn't help sensing a dark bruise just under the surface of the bright colours. I knew the origin of that stain, it came from the same place as all the wealth of the Dres.

We tied up at a poorer corner of the docks, the plaster front on the buildings were cracked and stained. After being cooped up for a week I was more than ready to be off and was already on the deck with my bags. Once the boat was tied up Hulgar came over to me, "Seems we part here. Good luck with... things."

I nodded, "Likewise, thanks for the journey."

"Anything for someone... like-minded. Here I said I'd put you in contact with someone who might help you find that slave train. I'm afraid I'm really busy, you know how it is," he nodded at the customs building, "So I can't take you personally. Go to the Westwater Club and tell Nakuma Hulgar showed you the light. She's alright but watch yourself."

I hefted my pack and nodded, "Goodbye then."

"Aye and good luck, and if they catch you with that stuff you didn't come in on my boat."

I smiled and left away down the gangplank. I didn't look back as I walked across the rutted quayside.

***

The Westwater Club was a run down building in the warehouse district west of the docks. A couple of crooked tables sat outside, a redguard smoked a hackle-lo at one. "Afternoon," he said, I nodded back but didn't answer. "Another drink out here," he called though the open door behind him.

Inside was a welcome break from the burning sun of southern Morrowind. Carved screens let a gentle breeze waft though the plain room but kept the heat at bay. But as I grew accustomed to the gloom I noticed that every eye in the bar was on me. The weight of just stopped conversation was every bit as oppressive as the heat outside. The second thing I noticed was that, unlike the rest of Droyn which had a high portion of dunmer even for Morrowind, there wasn't a single local there. Men and Argonians dominated though there were a fair few Khajit and even an Altmer. The hostile gazes didn't bother me and I went to the bar.

"What do you want?" asked the barman.

I wasn't sure he meant drink but I decided to miss the hint. It was like dodging a half brick, "What do you have squire?"

He paused, frowned then replied, "The usual imported stuff, and some other stuff from up north, shein, mazte..." his tone said what he thought of that, "Or you could have some local stuff. My sira and rasde are quite good."

"What are they?"

"Sira is wine made from saltrice, rasde is the same but distilled."

"A jug of rasde then," I lent over the scarred bartop, "and can you tell me who Nakuma is?"

He paused with the jug half-filled, I heard people stir behind me. "Why?"

"I wish to speak with her."

"Very well," he said and put a jug of cloudy white liquid on the bar, "She's sitting at the table by the wall behind you. Don't try anything."

I looked and saw an argonian sitting alone at the table with a book. A glass of something sat by her scaled hand. I took my rasde, which smelt largely like any other spirit except for a slight tang of lavender, over to her.

"Nakuma?"

She looked up, "That's my name," I noticed that she was quite old, the scales along the side of her head were dulled and her throat was greying, "Though I wouldn't mind knowing who told you it."

A dozen pairs of eyes bored into my back. The bar was silent, menacing. "A captain called Hulgar, he said to tell you he showed me the light."

With those words the atmosphere changed instantly. Conversations restarted and the other patrons largely, though not completely I noticed, ignored me. "Ah Hulgar, he's a good man. Pity he's never joined us fully... Still he helps when he can. So," she levelled her gaze at me, "By the sounds of it you don't know what you just did. Either that or you've a hell of a nerve."

She was old so I decided to allow her to ramble. Besides she might well know things I needed to, "So what did I just do?"

"This club is Twin Lamps territory. Everyone here is involved, if only slightly. I am involved rather more than slightly. As you can understand we don't always get on with the local authorities, we like our peace and don't like outsiders. 'Being shown the light' is an introduction. So why did Hulgar send you here?"

"I'm hunting a slave train."

Nakuma paused, then shrugged, "Well we tend towards rather more peaceful methods, but I might be able to help. I know most of what goes on."

"They were buying up north, Dres bunch. They have a... friend of mine." I hadn't ever thought of Varnan as anything more than a millstone, but friend was the word, "I tried to catch them before they reached Alt Bosara but failed."

"Alt Bosara... Alt bosara," she drummed her claws on the table top and swished her tail slightly, "Yes I think a ship did arrive. North of Tear to one of the holding areas before they sell them on in Tear itself," she spat the last bit. "Inren Dres, that-"

"That was the leader," I finished for her.

"Well that's right at the belly of the beast. This is the nearest base we have to Tear, the Dres there take a rather more... proactive approach that those here, and, of course, we don't have enough dirt on the head of the guards to help them forget us." She paused and took a drink. I sat across the table from her and took a draught of my spirit, "No. There's no rescuing him from there. Best wait until someone buys him then rescuing him from the plantations."

"No," I said, "I won't wait. If you tell me where this holding area is I'll leave tonight."

She smiled in a faintly infuriating way, "And do what exactly, the place will be thronged with guards, you'll cause more problems than you solve. Join us, help us and once he's out where we can reach him we'll make a move, not before."

"No," I repeated, "I leave tonight, now what's the name of this holding place?"

"As I said, won't tell you if you're just going to get yourself killed." She wasn't either, not without more persuasion than I was willing to give. Pushers and agents are one thing, roughing up an old lady, even a well connected one with a tail and scales, is another.

"Then we have no more business together." I turned and walked out. Any hopes that she would call me back went unanswered.

20. News in the South

Outside the high sun beat mercilessly on the ground. I swore and kicked a stone across the street, it splashed into the turgid waters of the harbour. The useless lizard knew but wouldn't help. I cursed again and drew startled looks from passers by; I wasn't used to this sort of messy subtlety, point me at what needs bashing and I'm fine. I smiled wryly at the thought, didn't that just say something.

Briefly I entertained the idea of a quiet smoke somewhere secluded but decided to sit on the urges. To pass the monotony on the boat I'd had far too much and one of the vial was already finished. It was strong stuff too and although I had said I would leave that day in truth I didn't think it possible, I had nothing but the armour on my back, my sword and just under two vials of skooma. I needed food and, I thought, feeling the sticky sweat in my warmer northern clothes, something else to wear. It was fearsomely hot. First though I wanted another drink of, I took a moment to remember, rasde. That had been good stuff.

I made my way along the docks to the bustling market. It was an astonishing array of rough wooden stalls with brightly coloured awnings where merchants and pedallers sold almost everything I could imagine, and plenty I wouldn't have. A whole aisle of tightly packed stalls sold nothing but potions and elixirs and alchemical contrivances. Bizarre apparatus imported from Summerset Isle, odd jars of green stuff and dessicated fish insides from Argonia, fungi in every shape and colour from Cyrodiil, barks and roots from Valenwood, oil of vitriol and sal ammoniac from High Rock and condiments from Elswer vied with more mundane things like ashyams and racer plumes from Vvardenfell. Everywhere people bought, sold, bartered a thousand things I didn't recognise. Then I was out the far side of of the alchemical quarter and into one where I was more at home. Weapons. More weapons than I'd seen in my life, from light chitin axes to massive ebony maces - the value of which I wouldn't dare guess at - the panoply of armaments spread around me. I cursed my lack of gold for I had little doubt that if my perfect sword existed it was here. Even so I wandered around wide eyed drinking it in.

A dunmer approached me, "Would sir like to buy?" his voice was as greasy as his slicked back hair.

"Just looking," I replied.

"I see the sword is your weapon, I have blades of the finest steel from Hammerfell," somehow he had led me to his stall, a selection of blades lay on this white fabric. Their intricate tooling made them close to art but I didn't doubt they would be effective. "Or perhaps," the merchant continued, "You're looking for something special? Oh, I know a connoisseur when see one, and you sir, look like you know blades." With that he drew an elaborately sheathed sword from under the table, it had a gold coloured hilt and a light silvery blade, "An elven longsword, made by the ancient Ayleids of Cyrodiil and, I assure you, the best sword you've ever seen."

It was a beauty. It also made me shiver, it brought back memories too recent and fresh. I'd kept them out as best I could but the oddly golden material was too similar to the ruin. My mind hovered over images of the bodies and burned supplies... "No, no thanks," I managed somewhat breathlessly.

The dunmer looked confused but had the sense not to pursue it, "Well sir, if you do want a blade you know where to come. Say would you be interested in selling that blade, or perhaps your armour, I'm sure we can arrange a good price."

"No I'm quite happy," I said. I wanted to see more of the market and in honesty the sword I had was serviceable and the light armour was all I could bare in the heat.

"Even so you must see my brother's armoury, come," I allowed myself to be herded though a narrow gap between two stalls and into the next brightly coloured aisle. This one was dedicated to armour.

"Gleril," said a jolly voice, "Hows things, and who's this you've brought?"

"Ahnvas this," replied the salesman, "Is an aficionado of the finer things."

"Ah you want some armour sir? This is the place, no stall has better," he did indeed have an impressive display of armours in varied styles and materials.

"Really I'm just looking around,"

I didn't get any further, "Ah sir is from the north, Vvardenfell I'd say by your voice. I have a fine suit of chitin, or perhaps," he looked me up and down, "I think bonemold might be more your thing. Unless you prefer foreign armour. Certainly we have little enough ash here but plenty heat, perhaps Dres armour would better suit you. I can give you a good price on that leather suit. It's a curiosity, though I'm sure you know how little protection leather offers."

"Thank you," I managed once his tirade finished, "I shall bare it in mind, however, I've just arrived in town and would like to freshen up. Could you direct me to an inn?"

"Of course, just head that way," he pointed to the town centre, "There are plenty, just avoid the Old Stone Inn. Place has rats something awful I hear. And remember, if you need armour just ask for Gleril," he smiled, "I'll give you a good price for that piece, shall we start at two hundred?"

"Maybe later," I smiled back, "I shall bear you in mind."

"Well what's you name sir," he proffered a hand.

"Fir- Hassius." I shook the hand, "Now I must be going."

I set off through the market staring at all the wanders on sale. The silks and clothes and wines and spirits all tried to outshine the assorted curios and oddments. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before and, I had to admit, I rather liked it. But what I saw at the town square at the far edge of the market soured my good mood like vinegar in milk. The source of this panoply of wealth and pomp. By one high wall set slightly aside from the market was a row of cages, from within peered eyes, some wild, others haunted and some, the most chilling ones, simply broken. My hatred of the Dres steeled. They stared blankly without looking, the soul behind retreated to some other place.

The slaves were a mixed bag, mainly Argonians though there were a few Khajit and even a man who paced round the small cage in tight circles tapping one hand madly against the bars until the slave dealer threw a stone at him and shouted for him to shut up. My hand went to my sword but the square was full of guards and dunmer who relied on just this source of income. There was nothing I could do so I looked for a moment than passed by on the far side of the street. After Firewatch and after this I knew I would get Varnan out, soon, and by any means at my disposal.

***

The first inn I came to was the Old Stone which I had been warned about, but I had no money and I thought perhaps I might be able to get myself a free room. I went in. The salesman hadn't been joking, the place stank of rat leavings. It was gloomy, dirty and above all empty, and for once this wasn't exactly what I was looking for. Everything about the barman screamed slime, his unwashed smell overpowered, at least locally, the pervading stench of rot and faeces. He wore a filthy shirt and had greasy unwashed hair which hung around a face like a rotten apple. "Good day," I said as cheerily as I could.

"I doubt it," he replied.

"I hear you have a rat problem."

"Yes," I didn't think it was just the rats which kept business away.

"I can sort that problem, if you agree to give me a room, some food for a journey and some money. And some rasde." I added. A month before I wouldn't have been seen dead killing rats - leave that to the associates - but I had little choice.

He looked at me, "Fighter's Guild are you?"

"Yes.... I was anyway." I doubted I'd be working for them again.

"And from the north," it wasn't a question. Did I really have that much of an accent? It seemed so, "Yes, tell you what I'll give you two nights in my best room, a sack of saltrice and some jerky and fifty coins."

"The rasde?"

"Two bottles."

His generosity surprised me, I hadn't expected to get any gold. Perhaps he was really that desperate to have the rats gone. But then why not hire a local? I decided I didn't care, "Fine point me in the direction." I was shown to a cellar, the barkeep was suddenly more friendly, though in a clumsy way as if he was unused to the activity. I took a lantern and went in.

The reek was enormous, almost a physical force which knocked me back. I screwed up my face and went down the stairs. There were rats everywhere.

A few minutes later there weren't. There was a lot of blood which turned the hard packed earth floor into slippery mud. I too was plastered in it, they were big, and I had just given a first class example of why you kill rats with a blunt weapon - if you use a blade they squirt. A lot. There was a hole going down in the corner and almost a worse smell emerging from it, almost certainly the main nest, and source of the problem was down there, but I reckoned I'd killed enough to convince him and didn't really care if they came back in a few days so I cut the tails from the carcasses and stuffed them all down the hole before dragging a crate over the entrance.

When I re-emerged, covered in blood, into the main bar I had sixteen tails. I thumped them down next to a crust of dried vomit on the bar, "I'm done," I said, "Have you get a water butt? And some oil for the leather."

The barkeep looked at the tails, "Butt's out the back, oil's in the stable. There's a clean table and your rasde on it in the corner. I need to go out to... get the saltrice, yes, I don't have that much so I have to get it. Watch the bar," his dour tone evaporated into mother of mine's friendliness for the last bit. I wandered why, but not much. I wanted to wash.

I spent the remainder of the afternoon drinking and, intermittently, puffing at my pipe. The barkeep seemed too preoccupied to care. The bar was horribly warm and the heat seemed to rise all sorts of smells from the foul tables and squalid straw floor. I managed to swap some local clothes for my northern ones, which were apparently foreign enough to be of interest, if not value, which relieved me somewhat. But mainly I drank rasde, which wasn't as good as the stuff from The Westwater Club, from a cup which wasn't even slightly clean. I went to bed early.


The night was cloudless and the shutters broken so a pale light crept though the window screen and dimly illuminated my room. Once it might have been nice, but like the rest of the inn it had seen better days. A crooked chair sat at a scored table with a fine pottery bowl with what might, at some time in the distant past, have been an orange in it. It was now closer kin to the dessicated undead than to fruit. The room had a cupboard and bookshelf of temple texts, and even a garderobe, which was broken. It was the best room I'd been in for a long while, yet for some reason in spite of the deep, if lumpy, mattress I couldn't sleep. The soft blur of mild drunkenness had passed and still I lay awake looking at the whitewashed ceiling and listening to the sounds of the night.

Down stairs I heard the barkeep, who was yet to tell me his name, pacing. There was a strange one and no mistake. After a while I heard the creak of the door and the footsteps stopped. Silence from below, at last. I lay back and tried to relax into sleep. Then footsteps on the stairs, strange at this time of night, perhaps he had a delivery to wait for and was going to bed? But then why two sets of feet? A mother of mine? Certainly he wasn't married now if he had ever been, the state of the inn made that clear enough. Probably just a mother of mine, he was nervous someone might see though gods know why. I settled down to sleep.

My door burst open.

21. Glittering Opportunity

I rolled off the bed. An instant later a bolt buried itself in the pillow. I hit the wooden floor with a thump. The figure in the doorway swung the crossbow down. He's shot his bolt... I grabbed the bedside table and threw it at him. There was a second twang and some plaster fell from the ceiling, another bolt was buried there. Two bolts. Fancy. He was clear of the wreaked table before I stood, but I had my sword now. He rolled to his feet and pulled out a dirk, enchantment glittered on its surface. For a moment we faced each other, calculating. I was horribly aware of my nakedness.

He lunged, viciously fast so I barely blocked and before I could counter he was out of range again. He darted to the side and again I was hard pressed to do anything. The tactic would tire him, but what if he was fitter than me. It was more than likely. I backed away. He pressed forward but I had retreated to a window alcove so he could only attack my front. The dagger licked out again, I went to block but suddenly it wasn't there. A few hairs fell as it sliced the air where my head had been an instant before I ducked.

I pressed my own attack. Risky but it would end this. He backed off, inviting me to step out of the alcove. I broke the attack. He paused for a moment then rushed me. The slice was low. It was also another feint, but I'd seen this one and only made a cursory attempt to block. As he flicked the swing high I caught the blade on my sword. They locked. This time I reacted first. I raked my finger nails into his eyes. He screamed. Before he could break away I dropped my sword and kicked the side of his knee. He spun before it broke but that left me behind him. It wasn't beautiful or flowing, or particularly honourable, but grabbing his throat to tip his head back then driving my elbow into his face worked. So I did it again. And again. And again.

His nose broke first, then I think a cheekbone. It became harder to land the hits as his face became slick with blood. My elbow started to ache a bit too so I stopped. He slumped but that he was conscious was a credit to whoever trained him, and whatever potion he was using. He still held the dagger, I grabbed his wrist and plunged it at his chest. He tried to twist out but it still scraped his ribs.

And suddenly his was still. Ridged still. The dagger was a jinkblade. I looked at him, knowing he could see me though his bloody eyes. The paralysis would last a few seconds, more than long enough to restrain him. But I wasn't going to; jinkblades are dirty weapons. I never pretended to fight with honour but neither would I use paralysing magic. I looked at him, I could see his fear, he knew how they're hated. I took the blade, it felt slithery and unsavoury in my hand, and held it to his throat so he knew what was going to happen but was unable to do anything. After a moment I ran it across. He fell, spouting blood.

I looked at the corpse, perhaps I should have let him live, but I was angry. Someone would regret that assassination attempt. I bent and rifled though his pockets but there wasn't much to go on. A few coins, all Mournhold minted. Could be from anyone, I pocketed them. His clothes were black with thin strips of metal as protection. Again any assassin might have them. The crossbow was something though, light but powerful, and with two bolt lines. I couldn't see well enough in the gloom but it looked like one bow did both, either individually or simultaneously. I tossed it towards my pack, it might be worth selling. In the mean time, though, it seemed prudent to disappear. The mer, my attacker had been a dark elf, had known what he was at. Professionals cost money, lots of money. Enemies with lots of money are the worst kind.

A few moments later I had dressed and took my pack, complete with bow to sell and jinkblade to drop into a river. It struck me as odd that the barkeep hadn't taken any notice of the noise. It also made sense, as did his clumsy attempt at friendliness and generous offer. My name and description was out there, someone was offering good money for my death and he'd sold my whereabouts. He was right to keep low, had my mood been a shade worse I'd have paid him a little visit but I kept my rage at bay, killing more barkeeps wasn't going to do wanders for my reputation. Instead I settled with taking several bottles and some money from behind the bar on my way out.

Outside I stopped in the shadow of the door and looked. I saw no one. What should I do? It briefly crossed my mind to seek shelter with Nakuma and her bunch, but I doubted they would have me. Did they know who I was now? I didn't want to risk it, better to get out of town. Find some backwater farm and get any more supplies there, and a haircut at least.

I didn't know any quiet routes out of Droyn so I took the main ones, staying as much in view as I could. The clock in the town square read four, but there were still some people about, and music and laughter from some bars. I hurried along, avoiding eyes but glancing around. Even so I didn't see anyone in the dark alley until I'd passed it. A clawed hand grabbed my wrist. I wheeled round. Its owner wore black, I tore free and drew my sword.

"Stop," said a harsh voice, "I'm not here to kill you."

I paused, sword still ready.

"I'm with the twin lamps, you spoke with Nakuma earlier. The captain Hulgar showed you the light."

It was all true, I lowered the sword slightly, "Who are you?"

"My name is Keel-ha, I've been following you since you left the Westwater Club."

"A tail then?"

"Yes," the lizard sounded uncomfortable, "I saw the assassin go into the Old Stone."

"And did nothing?"

"You managed. That was impressive, enough to convince people you'd be an asset. I didn't dare let the assassin see me, he knew what he was at."

I didn't answer. Silence often draws people best.

"Anyway, that was impressive but I think you'd best return to the Westwater Club with me. Whoever sent that assassin is sure to send another."

"Do you know who that would be, or why?"

"I don't, but Nakuma may well. Knowing things is her business."

I paused. There was no doubt the lizard was from the twin lamps, and of any faction I knew of they seemed to have least motive to kill me. "Fine," I said, "Lead on."

***

Even in the small hours there were people in the Westwater Club. In fact there seemed to be more activity there than there had been when I'd visited earlier that day. A few argonians looked up from the map they had spread on a large corner table as we entered but they ignored us. "Take a seat," said Keel-ha, "I'll be back soon."

He hurried away towards a back room and I made my way to the same small table by the wall I'd sat at earlier. Looking at the room it struck me how different it felt. Earlier had been quiet, the sort of place where revolution might be discussed, motions brought and passed or rejected and further discussed, but where little would ever be done. Now it bustled, the group in the corner spoke animatedly over some feature of the map, at another table scrolls and ledgers were poured over by another group, this one with some Khajit and even a dunmer. Someone left with what looked to be a roll of weapons.

The barkeep came over with a small jug, "Rasde?" she asked.

"Thank you," I nodded and she poured me a cup.

"Nakuma is a little busy with some incoming... business. She should be here soon though."

I nodded but said nothing. A small group had just appeared at the door, a pair a darkly dressed Argonians, similar in appearance to Keel-ha, lead a few heavily robed figures. Talk stopped and chairs scraped back and the other occupants of the bar rose. It would have been impossible to determine their race had it not been for a draught briefly catching one robe and showing a small length of scaled tail. They were hurried towards a back room but as they passed I caught the glitter of an enchanted manacle. I glanced around again. They were stealing slaves. In Dres territory. In spite, or perhaps because, of it being exactly my plan, I shivered. What had I got myself into?


Nakuma arrived a few minutes later. She took a seat across the table and levelled her red gaze at me. "I hear you had quite a night?"

"Some might say."

She blinked slowly, Argonians always seem to. It was slightly disconcerting, "Still you seem to know how to handle yourself. Wouldn't you say so, Firen, unless I'm mistaken?"

Here we go, I thought. "Yes, though I wouldn't mind knowing how you know that."

"Same as how that miser at the Old Stone knew. I'm glad you didn't kill him, it shows... restraint. I wouldn't be helping you if you hadn't shown that restraint. He's not been the same since his wife died, poor thing..."

"How did he know," my patience was beginning to wear.

"Word's out on you. And after Firewatch there's no surprise. Managing to have contracts on you from the Camonna Tong, Telvanni and Mages Guild as well as having the Fighter's Guild rather interested and the watch wanting to speak to you about a certain set of murders is quite a feat." She paused to let it sink in.

It felt more like being hit by an orc with a hammer. I'd known I was in trouble, but outrunning the law isn't so hard. Escaping that many contracts is. "So who was the assassin?"

"Well it's hard to be certain, but he's often seen going in and out of the Morag Tong guildhall-"

"Wh-" I spluttered. The words running though my mind were less savoury.

"But he was known to freelance, and by your reaction you didn't find a writ. That's a good sign, there probably isn't one, yet anyway. Still it means he was good, and you survived, that means you were better. We might have a use for you."

There it was. They had me by the balls and there was nothing I could do about it, if I refused they might just sell me out. Even if they didn't how far was I likely to get? Perhaps if I made it to a small town... But the Dres are a strange bunch, I'd be remembered. I was probably in the only place where I had so much as a hope of help. I nodded, "In return for which you hide me?"

Nakuma smiled, "As you can imagine, we have something of a talent for hiding people."

"What of the man I must rescue?"

"You'll be going straight to him. I said we didn't operate that far south, but I didn't say nobody does. You'll join a group of my brethren who have more... extreme views on the Dres," a frown flickered over her features, "And most other races. You can fight so you'll get along though. Once you've rescued your man, assuming you survive, you'll report to me and I'll help you disappear."

"And the catch?" It was too good.

"What? Am I not offering you exactly what you asked for? More even?"

"Very well," they were. When it turned sour I could always try my own disappearing act.

"Good, you should drink up. Keel-ha will take you to see them in ten minutes."

22. Reasons and Excuses

It was the small hours of the morning when we left the dark alleys and silent market of Droyn behind. Even so we avoided the roads in favour of the marshy saltrice fields. My greaves were neatly folded in my pack and my boots and britches hung around my neck to keep them out the brackish ooze which had attempted to steal them with every squelching step. Keel-ha seemed unbothered by the occasional creature underfoot which slithered wetly like a damp nightmare. The fields extended for miles. Each bordered by a raised heap of stones picked from the marshy land to provide firm ground for carts. In the corner of one we found the week old corpse of an argonian slave discarded like an unwanted doll. We ignored it - the living give more pressing business.

The first hint of rose touched the eastern horizon as we trudged though another field, set apart only by the thinner consistency of its ooze - closer to gruel than porridge. "How much further?" I asked. The night had been wearisome and I wanted time to let the knocks I'd taken settle out.

"A bit," he answered.

Keel-ha had been distant since we entered the fields, he spoke only when I asked him a direct question, and then only a couple of words. Always his gaze flickered from side to side, near and far, before and behind. He twitched like the madmen you could pay to laugh at in the asylum in what remained of Ebonheart. When the moon cleared the clouds I could see he licked his lips without knowing, and rubbed his arms more than I would after a week's withdrawal. I could guess, but I didn't ask. I didn't really care.

The rose glow was distinct when we breasted what passed for a rise in the miles of stinking swamp. We could see over a few fields to a river flanked by high embankments. Beside the river was a raised patch of land, dry enough for a few trees to grow.

"This is where we go," Keel-ha pointed.


It didn't take long to cross the three rice paddies which lay between us and the rise. As we neared it Keel-ha raised his hand. I stopped and crouched.

"What is it?"

"Unless you want to do a good pincushion impression stay low. We take certain precautions." He unslung his bow, fitted a cord to it and pulled a green fletched arrow from the arrow-bag which hung from his shoulder. That was a soldier's set up, not like the quivers used by hunters from which the arrows would spill if you stumbled. He fitted the arrow to the bow and loosed it at the copse.

"What-"

"Now we wait," he said, "They come to us, not the other way."

We didn't wait long. And to give them their due the two Argonians were good, but not so good I couldn't trace them by sound from about fifty paces. One circled behind us and waited, in bowshot I presumed though I gave no indication that I'd noticed him, the other came close and gave a low hoot. Keel-ha responded with an equally inhuman sound. A moment later the high rice plants to our right parted and revealed a scarred argonian wielding a falchion.

He said something I didn't understand, the language was guttural and full of unexpected sounds. It had the harshness of an argonian speaking any other language, but multiplied tenfold. Keel-ha replied in the same language and a brief argument ensued before he addressed me in a language I could understand.

"There is some... anxiety about your race. He doesn't like having a softskin around. However," he turned to the other argonian, "I think Nakuma's recommendation should at least allow us to discuss this in camp."

The other said something in a foreign language.

"Firen doesn't speak argonian while you, Hassde speak cyrodiilic fine. I suggest you do."

"Fine," the argonian called Hassde glared at me,"We go to the camp and decide there." His accent was heavy, but intelligible.

It looked like they had used the place before, but it was far from permanent, just a ring of stones with a low fire and a few clusters of branches leant against trees to keep off the worst of the elements. A couple of argonians sat by the fire, one stirred a pot of broth while the other ran a whetstone over the end of a spear. His broad shoulders and general bearing told anyone that he knew how to handle himself. Another sat at the far side looking over the river. They looked relaxed but the instant I walked into the camp they were all on their feet.

"Who is this?" demanded the spear wielder. I noticed his tail was a mass of scar.

I opened my mouth unsure but Hassde cut over me, "This," he said in a scorn greased voice, "Is Nakuma's suggested addition to our ranks."

The broth stirrer said something fast in argonian.

"She will have her reasons," answered the first, "We shall have to see how good they are."

Keel-ha nodded, "He can handle himself, I saw him walk away from an encounter with a morag tong assassin."

"I think I've heard of you," said the first, I suspected he was the leader, "Fighter's guild yes? With that reputation I don't doubt you can fight."

"I don't question his ability to fight so much as how much we can trust him," it was Hassde who spoke.

"Who could I be working for," I replied, "About half of Morrowind has a contract out on me at the moment. I need the shelter you offer as much as I need your help in rescuing someone in the south."

They didn't look that impressed, the contracts would be hard, and possibly fatal, to fake but the rest was just my word. It was Keel-ha who spoke up, "Nakuma vouches for him. That is enough."

"It is indeed," replied the leader.

"So," said Keel-ha, "Introductions are in order," he paused. I was glad I was no longer an object to be discussed, "This is Firen, and these," he gestured to the assembled argonians, "Are the Argonian Defence Front. Myself and Hassde you already know. Our leader, Grey-tail, is holding the spear. This is Tehei," he gestured to the female who'd been stirring the broth, "And that lazy sack of meat is Kieras." He pointed to the argonian lying in the loam and looking over the river.

"And I," said a new voice emerging from the undergrowth to my left, "Am Hides-in-shade, or more normally Hides."

The way she moved reminded me of the second of the two who had met us, "I am guessing it was you who circled behind when Hassde met us then?"

"Yes," she looked surprised I'd noticed. Looking round the other faces they looked equally impressed.

"As Keel-ha said I had to leave town... promptly. Nakuma tells me you're heading south for something big, what are you planning?"

"Crushing the filthy Dres burden from the freelands of Argonia, driving the Empire from the marsh and slaughtering their legions." Hassde spat into the fire, "Forward Argonia." He performed an elaborate salute.

"Indeed," nodded Grey-tail in a less frenzied tone, "We shall free all slaves and cull any who have owned or profited from the practice as the animals they are."

I raised my eyebrows. "That would include all the Dres."

"That would include all the Dres and any who have traded with them. And any imperial officials in Black Marsh or Morrowind as they have done insufficient to stop it. They shall all die in time, however I intend to expediate as many endings as possible."

I nodded slowly and wandered who Nakuma thought I was to put me in with this bunch of homicidal lunatics. Though given the reputation which proceeded me I could hardly blame her, I decided to test the waters of their madness a little more before deciding, "And this mission, what's the target and to what end?"

"We scourge the country southward to the holding camps outside Tear where we will attempt to free as many as we could. With luck we can panic the Dres into doing something rash, if we kill enough of them they will recall their hunters. That's the real aim, give us some breathing space, maybe only a couple of weeks. It will be enough to change a lot in the marsh."

Again all I could do was nod. A tactic of random murder of civilians. It was a... novel idea, if not a new one. Not that I was about to say anything in front of them. I was simply glad that most niche groups do little but talk about their revolution: once they get crazy enough to see the enemy as objects, or worse irredeemably evil, it got messy. I'd done jobs cleaning up this sort of group. Cleaning in a sort of terminal way, once they'd gone this far there was no recovery. And now I was considering joining the murdering whoresons. I couldn't help but wonder how it had come to this. Desperation I supposed, not so different now. I needed to get to Varnan, I needed to stay clear of those who wanted me dead - which seemed to be half of Morrowind by now, why not add the Dres to the list? And, the thought came unbidden, I needed, perhaps more than anything, somewhere to unleash my rage. Something for it to sink its teeth into, to rend, to tear, to violate until it shrank exhausted away from the injustice the world threw at it. For I was angry now, the seeds of my fury, planted in Firewatch, maybe before, had found fertile ground. I hated the raiders who had destroyed the village of my childhood and left me nothing but poisoned memories. I hated the Empire for failing me, the legion for taking me, forging me into one of them. I hated the Fighters Guild for saving me again, for giving me somewhere to sell my unwanted skills. But mostly I hated myself for being too weak to force events, and for allowing the skooma, that loathed but so precious vial in its bag by my heart, for becoming the lock on the trap I'd laid around myself.

My rage had grown, black and stronger than my heart. I remembered Firewatch, I remembered the choice I'd made there and it was too late to turn back.

"I'm in."

I really enjoy the grit and intensity of this story. Makes me want to recommit to my own writing and step up my game.

Thanks for the comment, this piece wasn't the easiest to write or redraft but I've got it as good as I can I think. Enjoy.


23. A Spark on Tinder

We moved out southward at dusk the following day and travelled by night. The argonians had a highly organised network of stopping spots, mainly in trees and always by water. Each morning as we made camp one would go down to the shoreline and dive down. A few minutes later they would reappear bearing supplies from underwater caches. That way we travelled unburdened and fast. After the fifth day we were deep into the territory of the Dres, the saltrice paddies stretched endlessly broken only by the occasional netch ranch or patch of mire too boggy even for rice. Not that these were left fallow, in their search for profit the Dres had these planted up with marshmerrow. As dawn came there were no trees and the only dry ground held roads or houses, we stopped in a boggy hollow by a stream. Further down the course of the water a large white walled compound glowed red in the sun's first light.

Grey-tail joined me by the lip of our camp, "A plantation. It is time, I think, for us to begin causing the havoc we vowed to."

"What do you plan," I replied.

"We wait until the late afternoon when the handlers are at their most complacent and kill them here in the fields. Set our brothers free."

"How many do you hope to get to?"

"All will be freed, sixty or so would be my guess, there will be one handler for every seven or eight, and maybe the same number of guards. We shall kill them all."

I ignored his vehemence and spoke my mind, "You'll never manage."

"Why?" anger touched his voice.

"There's seven of us. So we could hit two slave forces, maybe three but that would be a risk and as soon as we do the alarm will go up. If they have any sense, and from the plantations I've seen up north they do, there will be more guards and retainers within the compound who will come running. A few slaves might escape, but most will be retaken and we'll have to disappear."

Grey-tail was silent for a time, "That is," he inclined his head, "How several raids have gone."

He was sensible enough, and a good with weapons, but he was a guerilla fighter none the less. "That is because you haven't had anyone with sufficient experience in planning these things." He glared at me, but said nothing. I knew I was walking a knife edge, but the plan he outlined would be a small success at best, but more likely a disaster. "I would propose something different. I suggest we attack the compound itself."

He looked at me aghast, "You said yourself there is only seven of us. Maybe with a force of twenty-five, but its years since an attack on a compound has gone well, I'm not sure its even been tried this far from the marsh. It would be suicide."

"It would cause exactly the panic you want among the Dres, and if what you say is true they will not expect it."

"What's this you're discussing?" said Hassde joining us. I scowled, barring possibly Hides, and only possibly, he seemed most against my presence. Against the impurity I put in the ranks. For its many flaws the fighter's guild had never had any of that. It was deeper than just race I suspected, he had been the most competent fighter they had, but I was fairly sure I could take him, and also thought he knew this.

"He is suggesting," said Grey-tail, "That we attack the compound rather than the handlers in the fields."

Hassde looked at me for a moment, "I didn't have you down as a fool," he said and paused, "A filthy human perhaps but a fool? No. I'll hear this plan, if you have one?"

I raised an eyebrow, "Well they won't be expecting it, that works in our favour. I don't have enough knowledge of the layout of the place but I'll bet that stream goes through the centre of the plantation, and more importantly through its walls, somehow. That would be an obvious way in. At night the guard will be at its thinnest, Hides is light on her feet, she can swim in, if it's possible, and kill any who might see the rest of you. Keel-ha and myself will scale a wall after he's shot a guard off. Then inside I'll be able to enter the guardhouse without rising too much suspicion, see what's what and report back, or open a back door. With the guards dealt with the handlers and retainers will be easy pickings and then freeing the slaves couldn't be easier." I was planning on the fly and it had some issues, but overall would work.

"And if the alarm is raised? Say someone gets seen, or a corpse is found, or Keel-ha misses? Then what?" replied Grey-tail.

Hassde raised a hand to stall him, "Then we jump into the stream and disappear into the night having struck a far greater blow than killing a few handlers." The plan was sound, and he saw that. But it surprised me that he accepted it from me, even if the escape route was likely one I couldn't use.

Grey-tail looked unconvinced then turned to face the dip where the others were making a sodden camp, "Hides, get yourself up here."

She put down the knife she'd been peeling some ashyam from the nearest stash with and walked up to the lip. The morning sun threw our shadows long before us. "Yes?" she said.

"You reckon you could sneak into that place?"

She studied it for a moment, "Now? No. But maybe at night; if the river runs though it and I can swim down it then definitely."

"Good," Grey-tail nodded, "Then I think this plan might work, now for some reconnaissance... Hides, find a way in," he turned back to the camp, "Keel-ha, Kieras come here, I want to know everything possible about that compound by sundown."

***

There was little for me to do during the day so I intermittently napped and ignored the frowns while I smoked. I had a brief attempt at conversation with Hassde but, except the current plan, there was little we didn't wholly disagree on. The other female, Tehei, didn't speak any cyrodiilic so it wasn't until the scouts got back in the late afternoon that I had anything to do except wait. Hides-in-shade was first back, she wandered into the camp and slumped as she dumped her knives and a belt of dart tubes.

"How'd it go?" I asked.

She scowled at me, "Couldn't be easier, the stream is dammed at the far side of the compound, they use the pool for soaking the grain. It's a stinking pit of slime though."

"You'll love it then."

She only glared. I couldn't care less, the stuck up bint had worn though my meagre patience in record time.

After a while she set a pot over our low fire of tree fungus which burnt with little smoke. She pulled out some fresh fungi, a small paper pack of dried herbs and a block of resinous black gunge wrapped in more paper. This all went into a small brass pot along with a handful of the ashes she raked from the fire. I filled my pipe while I watched, the pot was spouting white spume which she scraped off and flicked into the flames. I was on the dregs of the skooma when she drew the pot from the fire and poured an oily black liquid from it and into a vial. The smell was bitter.

"Poison," she said without looking up, "Would you like to try some? Its victims die quickly, but in considerable pain. One of few which works on argonians."

"What in hell do you need that for?"

"Killing guards. Your plan is functional, but you need me to silence guards. I don't like the risk of being captured, I wouldn't fancy it without some of this."

"You expect argonian guards?"

"Probably not, but conceivably handlers and you seem to be quite happy to send me into the fire while you stay nice and safe." I didn't push the point, I didn't like the real reason she needed such a potent poison. She continued, "Sure you don't want a bit. You seem to like poisoning yourself." She gestured to the pipe.

"Boil your tail," I killed the conversation.

A few minutes later the uncomfortable silence was broken by the return of Keel-ha and Kieras. The latter's spear had some blood on it.

"What's that?" asked Grey-tail rising from the bed of leaves he'd made himself.

Kieras said something in argonian, I caught the word for rat. Keel-ha confirmed, "We met a couple of rats."

"Got the meat?" I asked. Meat was the one thing ration stores always lacked, the climate was so wet that even salted meat would fester here.

Keel-ha and Grey-tail looked at me, Hides voiced the thoughts painted on their expressions, "You humans are foul. Rats are unfit as food."

I shrugged, "Better than nothing, and fine with enough spices... Anyway what can you tell me about the plantation?"

Kieras spoke first, his cyrodiilic was no better than my argonian and he used the latter. I'd known a bit of argonian before meeting them and picked up more in travelling south but even so I only got a vague idea of what he'd seen. From what I could make out the walls were not overlooked so they only had some idea of the layout inside. The manor, guardhouse and a store towered over the walls at the north so were definitely known, there was something important about the storehouse but other than the word hidden I couldn't follow. The slave quarters would almost certainly be on the other side of the river he said. Away from the nobles I guessed.

I turned to Keel-ha who stopped Kieras, "I think it might be better if I do this in Cyrodiilic," he said.

"Yes," said Kieras, murdering the word.

"From what I gleaned the storehouse will be the key to my getting in, and misdirecting the guards," I said.

"Indeed," said Grey-tail, "We'll have you speaking argonian yet." He laughed.

"It backs very close but not right against the outside wall so that section cannot be seen from inside the compound. It's the only place I would risk escalade-"

"What about the slave housing at the south?" I interrupted him.

"We don't know for sure it's there, and it puts you on the wrong side of the bridge they surely have." Keel-ha was a good scout I decided. He offered his analysis, but also gave the facts for mine.

"Good, what of the surrounding area?"

"No shelter anywhere, that's why we're using this pitiful hiding place and hoping no one happens to walk this way."

"The gate?"

"Narrow, only slightly wider than a laden cart and right by the guardhouse."

"Then the river will have to be you way out with the slaves, does the wall cross it?" the plan was forming and reforming in my mind. Fluxing between possibilities, being analysed refined. This was what I was best at, apart, perhaps, from winning drinking competitions.

"The river goes though an underwater culvert," answered Hides, "I swam down it, it's just under the level of the wall and maybe ten feet long. Downstream is dammed, and impassible I'd guess."

"Damn," that left the issue of how I was to get out, I couldn't know without seeing it, "How high are the walls?"

"Fairly standard, maybe twelve feet," Keel-ha frowned, guessing my thoughts, "The ground is boggy by the river..."

"Okay," I nodded. "Here's what we do..."

Sorry for the late reply, the last few days have been rather busy. Anyway I thought it wise to mention that the second half of the story has increasingly heavy referances to the other story with Firen in it (Yesterday's Shadow) and though it should more or less make sense without having read it some things may not be so clear. It's still quite a while before the referances get frequent though.


24. Sealing Night

It was dusk, the undramatic sunset was smothered by the fog which rose from the warm marsh. A shrouded night to hide my plans from the gods above. We slouched in the shadows of the bank of the stream until we were just fifty paces from the compound wall. There was a dip in the ground by a meander in the water, I squatted on the driest tuft I could find, trying to keep too much mud from reaching my fresh washed clothes and polished armour. The argonians were already plastered in it, brown shapes against the mire.

Hides shifted and fidgeted like a Khajit on bad sugar. I turned to her, "It's time. Try to give the sign, if you can't and we hear no alarm then we'll proceed in five minutes." She frowned, for a moment I expected another argument but then she just nodded and dove into the waters. Instants later she was gone.

Grey-tail and Hassde rose from their crouches and began to stretch, "If this comes off," said the Grey-tail then paused as he stretched a series of pops from his back, "It is going to shake the Dres up badly."

"What will we do with all the escaped slaves?" I asked, "Send Tehei and Kieras with them?" Tehei looked up at her name but I'd discovered she spoke no cyrodiilic, I managed the argonian for escaped slaves in an attempt to explain. Kieras, who had half followed, rattled off his own explanation too quickly for me to follow.

"We'll see," said Grey-tail, "Now where's that Hides? It'll do her good to do this, however much she didn't want to. That girl has too many demons."

I didn't reply, I didn't care and was running though the plan in my head. Seeing what might go wrong, guessing reactions and counters. It was unlikely to be a catastrophe, but it could easily fail, my lack of escape route was particularly bothersome but I had to show bold action if I was to get a better hold in the group.

The silence stretched, I wandered about my escape route. "If I don't get out there's a man I need you to rescue from the compound down by Tear," I said to Grey-tail, "His name is Varnan..." As I said it I realised how long it was since I'd uttered his name. The only other survivor of up north.

I pushed the thought away, I'd kept busy, or drunk, enough not to face it. Now was most definitely not the time. I watched the walls, and waited. Not long now. But I wanted that sign. I was aware of the others glancing to me occasionally and knew that soon I would have to send them. Then I saw something on the near wall above the river. I stood for a better look, a guard had fallen and was draped limply over the parapet. Then he was pitched over the edge, I saw Hides scaled head. She half raised a hand to make the sign then glanced behind her and jumped back inside. I cursed inwardly and crouched again. My thighs ached.

"That was the sign," said Hassde.

"No that was half the sign, then she saw something."

"We should go in and help her," said Keel-ha. He'd been little keener than Hides herself on this bit of the plan.

"Shh," I listened. Nothing but the blissfully unaware cicadas chirruping in the fen grass, "No alarm, whatever it was she dealt with it. Go." I nodded to the river. They needed no second urging. Four soft splashes later and only Keel-ha accompanied me. "North," I said to him, "Let's see this storehouse."

We kept low and skirted north round the compound, there weren't as many guards as there might have been and we could, possibly, have tried climbing somewhere else. But I preferred to lessen the risk where possible, and wanted to be near to the guardhouse. Keel-ha was a mud stained shadow flitting from one hollow to the next, I was less inclined to sneak and more worried about my clothes. Dusk falls quickly so far south though so I doubt they'd have seen us had we walked upright. Once at the north we paused again, the three buildings were black monoliths against the dark sky, blunt monuments to the subjugation of Argonia. A fire burnt on the flat roof of the grandest, the manor I assumed. It was further into the plantation but I could just make out drifting figures in rich clothes circling the flames like moths in the evening heat.

Keel-ha bristled, I could see why. We crept closer to the dark back of the storehouse which loomed over the wall. Once we were quite close I put out a hand and stopped the argonian. "Do you see a guard?"

Elsewhere they had been easy to see against the sky but here the wall behind blotted out the silhouette. "He's patrolling," I heard surprise in Keel-ha's voice. I looked along the wall and sure enough a guard whom I'd assumed was guarding the end nearer the gatehouse was wandering back towards the store. And, my heart rose, he was carrying a torch. We might as well have danced round the walls wearing a pink guar costume from a Curio play for all the night vision he'd have. I motioned forwards and crept on until we were just a few paces from the wall.

"String your bow," I whispered, "Can't miss eh?"

Keel-ha took his longbow from his back and loped a sting round the nock bent it and looped the other side. I wandered what the bowstring was made from not to fail with water on it. He pulled out an arrow and fitted it. We waited. The guard wandered along the wall, paying no attention. When he came behind the store I nudged the argonian and nodded. He half-bent his bow but waited until the guard was at his closest before loosing. The arrow flew straight and took the left side of his chest. He fell with a wheeze and the muffled clatter of armour. The torch fell to the wall-top but didn't go out.

I swore.

"We need to move, if anyone sees that..." Keel-ha said.

I glanced along the wall and my heart sank, "It's worse," I pointed to another guard who was idly patrolling the other way towards his fallen comrade.

This time Keel-ha swore with impressive vigour.

"Could you take him out before he sees it?"

"Kill him? Yes. Silently? That's up to the gods." Keel-ha shook his head and stuck two arrows into the ground in front of him and stood straight.

I waited and tried to remember to breathe. That damned torch. If it had gone out he would have been near before he saw the corpse, an easy job. Now he needed shot at range. I wasn't sure whether Keel-ha was going to wait until he was behind the store. It was a risk either way. I left it to him.

He chose the middle ground and waited until the guard was just in line with the wall. He pulled an arrow from the ground and drew.

In that moment I saw it was warped. "No-" I managed before he let fly.

It flew awry but we had a bit of luck and it missed altogether. The wind of its passing was enough to rouse the guard from his thoughts though. He looked up and saw the torch.

And did something fatally stupid: he ran towards his fallen comrade. The second arrow was true and took him though the head. He was dead before he hit the ground. I sigh relief, I was already running at the wall. It was smooth but I put a foot against it and leapt up it. My fingers found only plaster, but it was old and the damp had gotten to it. It crumbled like stale bread. I slipped down a little then it held. I reached up with my other hand and gouged another hold with my finger nails. Then repeated, cursing when I tore one. It took me almost a minute to get my fingers over the top and pull myself over but no other guards came. Keel-ha followed.

We were in.

Awesome write. How typical that even after all possible variables have been thought of, still a flaming torch on the ground can bring everything undone? Very realistic.

I must duck back to the start on this story. Please excuse.

I started reading from the first post, and still have quite a bit to go before catching up, but I just wanted to say that it is quite good! You really paint a vile, disgusting image of the dive Firen is staying in at the beginning.

I really enjoyed this metahpor:
Like a creeping glacier memories returned,

I have not read the story this is a continuation of yet, but so far I am keeping up on what is going on. Looks like I will want to go back and check it out anyway though!

WooHoo! What's not to like? First person account, good dialogue and descriptions, action. . . .

Not sure on the bowstring. My girl uses silk to avoid stretching when wet. Costs a bit more, but worth it shethinks. Have you found a better TES-friendly alternative? Excellent detail.

I have to catch up still, but I got such a kick out of your descriptions that I had to stop and post! I swear you have to have been some of these places! Awesome Write so far!

As the others have said, I just started reading this. In fact I have just finished Ch. 3: Finding the Scent and Firen's interrogation of Big Dalam. I was going to suspend any comment until I am fully caught up, but that chapter and this story are just too good for me not to say something.

I hope your description of the nature of a 'bender' is not drawn from personal experience. Most writers would not have been able to capture the squalor and self-loathing that always attends such an enterprise. The fact that you nailed both causes me to extend my deepest sympathy, even as I chomp at the bit to go back and read more.

Woo lots of comments. Thanks for the kind words, as far as individual reponses go...

Bowstrings... well I don't think UHDPE/kevlar blends is very lore friendly so I've no idea. Just stuck it in as a throw away comment to add some depth really.

Descriptions - I been to a fair few places so I just combine aspects of them to make settings. The moorland south of Firewatch was based on a the landscape of where I grew up and the 'feel' of the eastern Himalaya's. The variety of pubs he passes though are all based on a few real places which shall remain nameless.

And Destri - I can assure you I'm not that bad. Self-loathing is never an activity I've bothered with.

And without further ado another part:


25. Luck of the Bold

We stood a moment in the shadows behind the store catching our breath. The corpses lay in a heap next to us. I found it comforting that Keel-ha was as unceremonious with the dead as I, it spoke of experience and confidence. The sounds from the compound were already slightly to loud, no alarm was raised yet but clearly something was wrong. Maybe some people were being missed, or some piece of sabotage had been noticed.

"That took longer than I'd hoped. There's not time for you to cover me, you'll have to make ready alone. Looks like I'd best see what I can do in the guardhouse."

Keel-ha half nodded agreement and half shook his head in disbelief, "You're mad trying this. If it goes wrong they'll cut you to bits, I won't be able to do anything to help."

I gave him a grin, "Then let us hope that it goes well."

He snorted.

"Fortune favours the bold. And be ready to call havoc," I said. He vanished into the night without replying. I brushed myself down then stood at my straightest and walked round the side of the store.

The north of the compound was a large courtyard with the store taking one side. The manor stood opposite and to my right the narrow gate and guardhouse. Opposite the guardhouse squatted a hodgepodge of retainers houses, a smith and trader and some formal gardens full of faintly luminescent blue fungi. I forced my glance to be casual while I took in all I could and carried on walking as if I had every right to be there. Some wizards can make themselves invisible, but just looking as if you're meant to be wherever you are people don't look. In many ways it's better.

I turned and walked past a couple of traders who were discussing prices with a bottle of some wine, fungus based as likely as not given the tendencies of the Dres, I didn't give them a second glance and they ignored me. There were a couple of people running around which struck me as odd, if they were looking for someone, who by now would be dead, then they might actually bother to see me. I tried to look both preoccupied and in a foul humour while keeping my pace even. I would be fine though, it was working just as well as I'd hoped. Then I was at the guardhouse, the first part of the deception complete. Now was the risky part, I was going to have to play it by ear. My plan was to pose as a shady character in business with the captain. With luck he would be involved in something, it was more than likely, and with more luck I'd manage to stall things. I didn't dare pause long so put my hand on the door handle and pushed. The creak of the door mirrored my strained nerve. I stepped in.

The guard room was spartan. A scarred table sat in the centre with the remains of some food on it, three armoured dunmer sat playing cards. They looked up as I entered.

"Who the hell are you?" asked the nearest.

"Who's in charge of the guard here?" I hoped my voice sounded more confident than I felt.

"Nels Illren, he's upstairs in his room. Why do you need to see him?" the dunmer scrutinised me closely.

I gave an insincere smile, "I represent, ahem, certain... business associates of you captain. I am here to discuss certain matters with him."

The guard looked unsure, "He doesn't like to be disturbed."

"He will like it even less if I am delayed I assure you. He is expecting me, though not for a couple of days yet. I have come a considerable distance and at speed. I would speak with him now."

"But-"

"If he is unhappy I assure you I will take full responsibility. However these matters are most private in nature and I would not want to be the person who disturbed us. Am I understood?"

He nodded. The idiot actually accepted it. I could scarce believe someone could be so used to taking orders that they would take them from a stranger with nothing to back them up. Not even the legion was that bad. I had a feeling I would enjoy my time with the captain.

"Which room?"

"Upstairs, end of the corridor. The first three are sleeping quarters for the rest of us and the handlers."

I turned away and walked regally up the stairs. They continued their card game.

Except for a shelf of well thumbed arms manuals the corridor was as bare as the room below. I opened one and tore out the flyleaf and folded it. Three reinforced doors lead off it and a fourth faced me at the end, I made towards the latter. When I reached the first of the doors to the guards' quarters I noticed was locked on the outside with a padlock through a heavy bolt. I allowed myself a grin, they must have three watches, it made sense, and each watch had their own quarters. That would mean they wouldn't disturb the others' sleep. I hurried to the second. It also meant that if I shot the bolt on the outside the guards inside wouldn't be going anywhere fast. I looked both ways then tested the heavy iron lock. It was well used and silent. I eased it home walked to the next and did the same. That stroke of luck was unexpected, but most welcome.

When I reached the final door I knocked sharply. There was no reply so I knocked again and pushed the door open. The lavish room was in sharp contrast to the rest of the guardhouse, at a desk by one wall a heavyset dunmer sat bare chested looking at a book. He looked up in surprise, "Who the hell are you? Get out."

I coughed gently and smeared insincere nicety on my words, "I represent a certain group of businessmen... Ah good I see my visit wasn't wholly unexpected." I didn't but the initiative was mine so I took it.

"I don't know what-"

"Now Nels, don't be like that."

"I'll have the money," he blurted, "I can get you it but I need some of the goods first. To raise it. I have buyers who'll pay well."

I nodded slowly, "That, I'm afraid, is not for me to decide or know. I was to give you a letter, I don't know what it is but he said you'd understand." I pulled the folded paper from my shirt and walked behind him. I glanced at his book and for a moment paused. Somehow he'd got a copy of Boethia's Pillow Book. I glanced at the picture but couldn't quite believe what I was looking at. I've never seen ash-yams in quite the same way since.

I pushed the book aside and put the paper in its place then stepped back with my arms respectfully crossed. And my hand on my sword. He leant forward and started to open the paper. His hands shook slightly and I wandered who he was in deep with. All his concentration was on the scrap where he expected to find something. Hope? Salvation? Who knows. He didn't hear me draw my sword and was too intent on puzzling the scrap to even notice as I sliced it across his neck. He dropped over spurting blood. I took the blank paper, refolded it and put it in my pocket. I was sorely tempted to take the book too but decided that it wouldn't survive the damp and travel.

I left the corpse and had a look around the room. There was some armour, the quality looked decent but it was in the Dres style and, even had it been practical to steal it, I didn't want it. His weapons were no better though there was a nice dagger. I wouldn't normally use one but the trick I'd just pulled with the sword had been risky so I strapped it to my side. I also took a travel bag and some beautifully made, if extravagantly coloured, clothes and the money I found in a box under his bed.

My takings, for I didn't really view it as theft, complete I returned down the stairs. The same guard looked up from his card game. "Don't disturb him," I warned and continued towards the door.

Before I got to it another guard burst in. "There's been two murders!" he said breathlessly, "Veril and Samethi were both found with their throats cut and other people seem to be missing."

"Who was this?" said the guard, I decided he was the deputy.

"We don't know."

"I'll get the captain."

"I wouldn't do that," I said, "It's probably just a slave got a knife and managed to hide. Just root him out."

"How do you know, it looked too well executed for that scum. Too clinical."

"What's it going to be," I pumped every bit of scorn I could into my voice, "A raid? They're common around here aren't they? There must have been what... none in the last few decades. Now stop nattering like an old hen and go and search. You and you," I pointed at the other two card players, "Take two guards from patrols near the manor and take a quarter of the slaves each. There's no risk so do it alone, it'll be faster. You," I pointed to the newcomer, "Go and search for clues, try to find wherever he's hiding but do it quietly or you'll cause panic and there's a risk he'll slip away in the chaos." Another pair of guards emerged from the back room to see what the noise was about.

The deputy looked at them and drew himself up. "Who gave you control. I say we ask the captain so we do."

"You really don't want to be the first thing he sees just now. I'm not saying don't, just that I wouldn't want to be the one who goes up."

The deputy looked unsure but then said to the other two at the table, "Okay go and see to the slaves," they got up and left. He paused, "I'm not sure about this."

"I'll help you, go out and put round the order than all the guards are to go individually but quietly to find this rouge," I said. Divide and conquer, I thought.

"Do it," said the deputy to one of the newcomers, "I still think we should go and see the captain. It's murder. He needs to know."

"I don't think he liked the news I gave him," I said, "It will be another murder if you see him now, he has quite a temper," I saw in the mer's eyes that I was right, "but don't let me stop you."

It might have worked too but just then there was an almighty thumping from upstairs. One of the other watches had realised it was locked in.

"You pair with me," I shouted and ran out into the night. I had seconds at best but most of the damage was done, the patrols would soon be in disarray. I turned to find that one guard had followed. "Is that a lizard death mark?" I asked pointing at a blank bit of wall.

He turned to scrutinise it and I slipped the commander's dagger between his ribs. I was away before he hit the ground. I ran towards the retainer's housing. There would be places to hide there. I glanced back and saw some guards burst from the guardhouse. An arrow took the first in the chest. They barely had time to react before a second ricocheted off a helmet and inside. Keel-ha. It was good to have him at my back, I quickly scanned the dark houses trying to work out where he was firing from. It was useless so I ran on into the tangle of buildings. The retainers seemed to have grown their section without even a nod to planning. Mainly the houses had the white plaster and flat roofs in Dres style but some were just cheaply built shacks, others had two stories. What looked like an early attempt at a street had since been built on resulting in a snarl of paths. Maybe twenty buildings in all. I made for the smithy, the forge would be deserted by now and let me plan what to do next. Pick off and wandering guards probably. I jumped the wall neatly and landed in an untended garden. The forge was just a lean-to but I crouched in its shade anyway.

I hadn't caught my breath when a noise rose from across the river. Other than the occasional shout I couldn't work out what it was, just the sound of people moving. Lots of people. Surely they hadn't already released the slaves, it was too early, too risky, even for this mad plot. Then a bell was clamouring alarm at the night. The shouts increased. I caught the word havoc repeated. It was too early.

But it was also done. I stood and shouted the word twice as loud as I could then turned to the forge. There were still embers, I took a shovel and hefted them at the thatch of an adjacent hut. There was a barrel of quenching oil too so I tipped it onto the forge for good measure before jumping back into the street.

The sack had begun.

I got to chapter 10 and I love it! The character (still didn't get his name) is some piece of work! I am making it my task reading through it this weekend.

Well. I'm all caught up now on this thread (haven't read Yesterday's Shadow yet), and I find it to be my kind of story - dark, gritty, realistic (as realistic as you can get in a fantasy world).

Very well written. And the protagonist is a fascinating man. Makes me want to read more. I'm rooting for him to find Varnan!

As for the pubs, I could swear you had been in some of the "Gun and Knife" clubs in ETN on reading this! Awesome Write!

I am still working my way through. I love the really rough, gritty style you have. You make Bogart look like a lightweight!

I found a few odd word choices in chapter 3. I think these are the result of the forum's swear filter? I seem to recall seeing someone say that it changes out swear words with other, random ones.