You ROCKED the dialogue in this chapter! WHEW !!!! Amazing!!!!

Very strong descriptions, and vivid metaphors. This one I really loved:

As ever my mind circled the mist between wrong and right and picked at the plan like a scab.

Mabrel is an interesting one. I wonder why it is that she hates the Dunmer so much? I also wonder how long she will survive Firen's company?

Lately when I read BT I am finding myself reminded of Outlaw Josey Wales, in the way that Firen is wanted everywhere. Now I am suddenly thinking of him saying: "People I take a liking to have a habit of dying.", and the response: "I notice that people you take a disliking to have that same habit..."

Now I am really looking forward to the attack on Tear. You have really been building it up into something big.


nits:

"I seek help from a certain group you used sometimes to aid.
I think you meant:
"I seek help for a certain group you used to aid sometimes.

I wandered what the dunmer had done to drive her quite so mad.
"Yes," she laughed, "I wander which splinter group did that
it is your old enemy wander/wonder in both these cases.

Aaaaargh... what is with those words? I did a search through the remnant of the story for wander to change where appropriate (there were a great many) and I still get it wrong, it's not even like I don't know the difference, I just don't see it. I shall have to try something more drastic now.

As for the wording: I see how that's unclear, it's a dialect thing. I changed from to for but kept the adverb splitting the infinitive because the other sounds strange spoken (to me anyway).

I've never seen The Outlaw Josey Wiles, but I'm delighted you feel you know Firen well enough to compare him to other characters and picture him that clearly...

Cheers.

I am really enjoying this story. The similarities with Josey Wales are spot on.
Make sure that you watch the movie. The relationship between Clint and the American Indian woman is so cleverly done that you cannot help but laugh.

If you are having trouble with the wording then just try gunpowder. Works every time.

Cheers WW I shall put it on the list. As for wording I think I've sorted it by changing the entire thing to blue of a different font I saw a few more homonym errors. Made my eyes feel like they'd liquefied though.

Anyway...


34. No Return

I left the house of the witch a little after noon with a sack of items. It turned out the slave bracers she had were for study, as the source of so many strong souls required for the enchantments had piqued her interest. Her findings reasserted my hatred of the Dres. In any case such studies were invaluable to my intentions. She waved to me from the door, with a look of glee which would have unnerved Sheogorath. I walked back out of town from the way I'd come in. Again I was ignored. Back at the camp Hassde and Okun slept, Hides sat a short way off glowering into the distance. I left her to it and lay down in the crevice between two boulders. Weariness took me.

A scaly hand shook me awake. I brushed it away and leapt up trying to shake free of my stupor. "Wha- Ah it's you," I said realising that the hand belonged to Okun and not my nightmares.

"It went well?" he gestured to the sack I'd returned with.

I rubbed the muck from my eyes and saw that Hassde and Hides were also both looking at me. It was dark but Hides looked like she'd seen little sleep. "That woman," I said, "is weird. She might have been a necromancer, she was definitely into some iffy magic. But yes, she mostly had what I needed and made what she didn't."

"Perhaps she has reconsidered her dislike of us," said Hassde.

I shook my head. "She didn't like the Twin Lamps much more than the dunmer I think, but she hates them with a fascination. I think her help was more because of the plantation and the likelihood of more Dres deaths if my plan works."

"Now you have the tools mind telling us what it is?" said Hides.

I swallowed. Doubtless a silver tongued rogue would have had no trouble... "We walk in and start a riot," their incredulous stares told me that the direct approach may not have been the best. I elaborated, "We are four. We cannot fight in, and only one of us could rely on stealth," I nodded to Hides, "Hassde and I would doubtless make a show for ourselves but even so it would be an irrelevance. Okun would last as long as his luck." Harsh perhaps but now was not the time for sugar coatings. "We could hardly be a poorer group to attempt this, they hold all the strong cards. So I intend to seize one. If a full blown mass escape and riot were to happen they would not be able to hold it, the slaves simply outnumber the guards."

"A meat grinder then?" Hassde put in.

"Not even that perhaps, more a torrent bursting through a dam. Their system is weak, if one part fails the rest falls like a house of cards. That is our strength."

"And how will you start this mass riot. It would be very well if there were just a few or if they were all fresh and angry but many will be old or broken to the Dres. Even managing to get into Tear will be nearly impossible."

"We shall walk in," I said.

Okun and Hides both gave me a calculating look. Hassde didn't see where I was going, "The Dres would kill us."

"No, they're going to help us," I reached into the sack and produced three slave bracers, "The witch, Mabrel, studies slave bracers. These are past test pieces, their enchantments are pretty much broken. The magical wards are gone, just basic tumblers weak to both picks and levers. This way we can get amongst the slaves." I held up a hand to forestall any protest, "The riot we start with these," I pulled out a handful of scrolls.

"No," said Hides, "I will not become a slave again."

"You will not be a slave, these bracers are relatively easy to remove, with the correct tools. We will pass as slaves until the riots begin, then we shall be free. Or dead. Either way you will not be under a master's will, except to destroy that master."

"No. Never again... I can't..."

"What of Keel-ha," said Okun, "Do you not owe it to his memory to go ahead with this? What would he have have done?" I smiled inwardly. It was brutal but it would definitely work, especially from him.

She nodded mutely.

Hassde had been looking quizzically at the scrolls, "How can paper make riots? Strong leaders make riots."

I smiled, how wrong can you be? "Paper make riots in so many ways," I said, "But in this case it is no so subtle. Magic. I have four scrolls of Monden's Instigator, use them well. Read it and whoever you direct it at will fly into the most deadly rage. Two of them have been modified," I gestured to two large but rough scrolls, power crackled off them, I raised one, "This I believe will tear apart the soul of one Nels Deren," I gave a black grin, "And use that magic to send every being within a significant area into a deadly rage. Make sure that the slaves are ready to attack the Dres before you use it. We don't want the them tearing each other apart. Use these well, Mabrel said they were experimental and doesn't know exactly how well they will preform. She also copied the inscriptions onto a separate parchment in the argonian script to make it easier for you to read. Just make the sounds."

It took them a while to absorb it all. At length it was Hassde who spoke, "This is madness. But perhaps genius also. I don't understand such trinkets, but if they do as you say... Let Tear burn."

"Tear shall burn," nodded Okun.

Hides looked pained, "Yes, I know where my duty lies. Tear shall burn."

We started going over exact details.

***

Evening came grudgingly. I glared at the setting sun as if I could blame it for what was about to begin. I could still walk away, abandon this plan. Or so one part of my mind said but it was false. Though physically possible I had come too far to shy the last fence. If all went well the good of what I was to do would outshine all the darkness leading up to it. I looked at the sun, a great red eye stared back half lidded by the western hills. Its gaze drifting away from what must soon begin. Hides' fidgeting stirred me and I looked round. She had slit the wooden ends from the scrolls to make them easier to conceal. In the centre of the camp the bracers lay in the sack. An air of foreboding exuded from the coarse weave of the fabric like a noisome gas of the soul. They lay within, an ogrim in our midst, unmentioned but far from ignored. Even so only Okun let his gaze rest on them, but he fidgeted with his own even more than usual.

Hassde must have guessed my thoughts, "It is time?"

"Soon," I nodded, "Then why not now?"

He nodded but for a while we did nothing. Perhaps it was a little thing, they were, after all, robbed of most of their power. But there is power in actions. I got up first, for it was my plan, and opened the sack. I selected the first bracer, it was cold and heavy. Slowly I extended my other arm and lay it into one half. The metal was cold against my skin but that was not why I shivered. "For tomorrow," I said and closed it.

Click. A simple sound cast huge in the shadow of fate. I tested it. Locked. There was no removing it without the help of a thief or a smith. It gripped my arm like a cold jaw that felt simply wrong. I doubted I would get used to it and though was lighter than some armours I'd worn, the knowledge that, even if I wished, I could not remove it was far heavier. It was odd to look at this new addition. Another click sliced the silence while I accustomed myself, there was a feeling of malaise, Mabrel had said something about magic draining or some-such. It didn't matter. I looked up to see Hassde with a grim expression but it was a smile next to Hides who bristled as she picked up the final one. The crest on her head stood erect and quivered slightly, her sharp teeth showed past her lips. She stared at it for a while then quickly closed it around her arm.

"I never," she said, "Imagined I would do that."

I nodded, "We are ready then. There is a large slave train just passed though Nelmora, they'll be camped a way south," they had passed though while I was with the enchantress, I wasn't sure how far they were likely to get but they wouldn't be able to outpace us. "They'll be ideal, we just need to get in."

"They'll notice," said Okun, "It's not like they don't count us."

"Yes but if we act ignorant they'll just suspect a mix-up. How many people are trying to get into the trains? But yes we will need a cover story, I'll leave that to you - I don't know the business as well."

He nodded, "I know the inside but nothing current, Hides?"

"A big mine shut south of Mournhold recently. Hard times have dropped the price of ebony and it was a rubbish deposit anyway. They say the Morag Tong got the owner and his son cut his losses. Big influx from there about a month back. Just say we worked there," she looked at me, "And don't say you were a miner unless you know your stuff. Be a labourer, they can't ask difficult questions about that."

I nodded, "Okay lets go."

We walked about a quarter of a mile east of the road to avoid being seen. It was odd not to have my sword and armour. I don't think I'd ever walked out of town without them. Excepting leaving that village all those years ago. The memories threatened so I took a generous gulp, indeed as much as I dared, from the skooma bottle I carried and threw the rest into a bush. My scrolls were unlikely to be found in the lining of my trousers, but concealing a bottle was less easy. It was one of the many reasons I wasn't looking forward to the next few days. I cast one longing glance back at it before continuing. The unfamiliar feel of the bracer tugged my mind away from the past. I fingered it though the shirt sleeve I'd pulled down over it.

After a couple of miles Okun tapped my shoulder. "Yes?" I said.

"They're going to catch you in seconds," he said. I gave him a quizzical look. "You hold yourself all wrong. You look in control, proud, confident. That's not how a slave looks, and your shirt is of too high quality. Loose it."

I pulled off the shirt and threw it away too. If anyone else ever walked this way they were going to be mightily confused, "How should I look?" I asked. I hadn't tried to look anything, I just stood as I did.

"You have posture like a lord. That has to go, hunch a little, round your shoulders. Do everything a stuck-up headmistress would tell you not to. And try not to meet any eyes."

I practised as we walked but it's hard to change the way you are. I like to think I managed, at least to an extent. The evening breeze was nice against my skin but it meant I had to see the bracer. I simply didn't like it. In the distance smoke rose from several fires. That would be the camp. I adjusted out path to make for it.

I love it all, but the part where they are figuring out how to act like slaves is my favorite part, rationalizing how the slaves are counted, walk and dress, etc - your mind is amazingly detailed! Great Write!!!

When it comes to covert ops, I love reading about the planning part. That's my second favorite part. My favorite part of reading covert ops is winging it when the plan goes all to hell, as happens in the best stories. I'm thinking this might happen in Tear, too, based on the quality of the writing so far.

Good stuff! And good catch from Okun. We see a little bit more of Firen in Oken's pointing out his demeanor as being inappropriate for a slave. QFT!

Very exciting. You really have me looking forward to what is coming next!

This is madness. But perhaps genius also.
Quoted for truth. Often the most brilliant plans seem mad.

This is a wonderful metaphor:
Evening came grudgingly.

Your description of Firen putting on the slave bracer as simply wonderful, with the suffocating weight it cast upon his heart.


nits:
This left me puzzled:
It turned out the slave bracers she had were for study, as the source of so many strong souls had piqued her interest.
What do the bracers have to do with a source of strong souls?


"That woman," I said, "Is weird.
That second is ought to be lowercase. It is following a comma, so it is part of the same sentence as the rest of the line.

same with she here:
I shook my head, "She didn't like the Twin Lamps much more than the dunmer I think,


This sounds a bit odd:
but she hates them with a fascination.
maybe you meant passion instead?


Doubtless a silver tongued rouge would have had no trouble...
You are looking for rogue, rouge is makeup.


Either way you will not be under a master's will,
You ought to have an apostrophe there, as the word is being used possessively.

Chapter 32 broke my heart..... awesome!!!

mALX - thanks for the comment, I try to put a few extra details in to spice things up a little.

haute - you say planning... anyway I don't think it's spoiling anything to say not all goes as planned.

SubRosa - as ever you see everything. As per the souls for the bracers - they have a continuous effect enchantment which required the soul of the toughest creatures in Morrowind which always made me wonder how they could afford them for all the slaves. Also I kept fascination, to 'hate with a passion' is a bit cliche IMO.

Remko - glad you're enjoying it.

All - short part this time seeing as it was that or another rather long one. I think the next section of the plot is probably the best, and in about four parts (depending on where I decide to cut them) the referances to Yesterday's Shadow begin to appear, though it should more or less make sense without having read it.



35. First Taste

It was only when we arrived at the outskirts of the camp that the full meaning of Hassde saying that they were broken hit me. The strongest chain holding the slaves seemed to exist only within their minds, there were a few guards watching them but they looked bored and seemed more interested in speaking with each other or drinking than actually watching what was happening. Of course their fear was well enough placed for recapture was near certain. There was a small stockade but the vast majority of the slaves simply lay in small groups, of perhaps twenty at most, sleeping. Most were argonian though there were some groups of bedraggled Khajit. Other races were very sparse; I did spot two dunmer amid some of the cats and a few humans dotted around. Two bosmer sat alone in a dark spot, as I watched a guard walked over and punched one of the annoying creatures. Can't say I really blamed him.

I looked back to the other three. If anything Okun looked least nervous. "Looks like getting in shouldn't be hard. Where do you suggest?"

Okun rose from the grass for a moment, Hassde behind him. "Near but not in the smaller group of westerners to the right," said Okun.

"Yes," said Hassde, "I'm from near Lilmoth and you look western enough."

Okun nodded, "Maybe Archcon way. I don't know, never knew my parents, I was taken away to a sitter before I hatched."

Hassde grimaced, "I thought that was banned."

"Only up north. The Dres still think slaves have similar rights to tables."

I looked at them confused, "Which group? How can you tell where they are from?"

"That one," Okun pointed, "They're definitely western. Just like you humans say you can tell a Breton from a Cyrodiil. Longer faces and dark backs. Small crests too, they're as western as khang root broth."

Hides looked deeply troubled but didn't say anything. I wasn't not sure to what extent she was there but when I started forward she followed. The guards were worse than shoddy and the grass offered some cover so the main problem was choosing which of the many gaps I liked best. I let a few pass to get the feel for their rhythm before the perfect opportunity presented itself. A guard was deeply ensconced in his hackle-lo and had fallen somewhat behind. The gap was good enough in itself but then the one in front threw the bottle he'd just drained at the two bosmer and left his post. For a moment I stared in disbelief - how incompetent were these dunmer? I immediately started forward. Keeping my right arm low to avoid the bracers dull glow showing was a slight hindrance but even so I crossed the ground with a comfortable margin. The argonians kept up easily. Green scales don't show up like skin and they're tougher too. Humans are still clearly the best race but argonians certainly have enough advantages.

Once within the circle of the guards it was easy to sneak over to the group Okun had suggested. We approached near them but stopped a small way short and lay down. I had managed little sleep in the past few days but I doubted I'd get much that night. Partly there was the strange feeling of the bracer and the seemingly trivial but oddly annoying discovery of how hard it is to pillow your head when your forearm is wrapped in metal. Wondering about what the future held added to my discomfort. I lay awake and considered what might happen if it went wrong. Could I live out my days as a slave? What if we were diverted? Or if against all logic this train wasn't bound for Tear and the bracer were to be changed for any reason, perhaps they could detect defective ones? Discovery was less frightening, it meant death. A painful one but the unknown holds an infinitely more perverse terror than the worst of deaths.

Dawn found me still awake. I could see Hassde's red eyes were also open. Hides was deep in the throes of a nightmare, I thought about waking her but decided against it. Either she would herself or she would sleep on and forget the dream. Only Okun slept well. It was light enough for me to decide sleep was futile so I sat up and my stomach growled. I could have done with a smoke too. I was pondering how best to keep the symptoms at bay when an argonian from the group we were next to sat up and crawled over to me.

"Hello," he said in argonian.

"Hello," I replied in his language.

He raised an eyebrow, "Been with us for a while then? Good accent you've got."

"Really?"

"As western as khang broth... What I wouldn't do for a bowl of that. What's your story?"

"Joined up in the town this morning. We've come down from the ebony mines up by Mournhold."

He nodded, obviously he knew the place, "Feel free to join our group. Word is we'll make Tear this evening," a cloud passed over his face, "I've heard stories. I'm not ashamed to say I'm scared. We're all scared." He sighed, "Moving's like this though. Breaks the blessed monotony and then I think. Hope is a black curse."

I tried to nod but I simply couldn't empathise. It put my mind to rest though, any god worth worship would be blind to whatever black deeds I might commit in opposing this. The imploring eyes' of the plantation owner's wife flirted into my mind but the memory was robbed of its power. Destroying the system would come at a grave price, but I could accept it.

Perhaps he saw my boiling emotions congeal into resolve, or maybe I still had too proud a posture. "You are more than welcome to join us. We need strength like yours, if only for the sake of the women. They are frightened. Especially Meesei for she is with egg but daren't let the dunmer know."

"We'd happily go with you," my answer wasn't entirely selfless. In a crowd we would stick out less. There is a safety in numbers, "I'm Cidus."

"Chalur," he replied.

Another good installment!

Of course, it's a given that nothing ever goes as planned.

One nit:I think the word you want is throes.

More Please.

I had to laugh at this!
Two bosmer sat alone in a dark spot, as I watched a guard walked over and punched one of the annoying creatures. Can't say I really blamed him.
Poor wood elves, I think Bethesda made the males annoying on purpose!

Out of curiosity, where do you get the names for the various places you mention, like Limloth, Archcon, etc... Are they all original creations on your part? They are not on any of the maps I have found.

Your description of the various breeds of Argonian was an especially good touch, and the comparison to how a human could tell a Breton from an Imperial.

As hottie collie said, more please!

nits:
How can you tell were they are from?
Just a little typo here on where.

This is great, especially his inner dialogue at the end!!!!!

Cheers for the comments. The place names are a mixture, villages and the like are my own creations but larger places tend to be somewhat based in the lore. Lilmoth and Archcon are both in Black Marsh. This is most useful, as is all the Imperial Library.

As an aside does anyone know how Tear is pronounced?

36. Tear

Tear rose in the distance. A group of white cantons not dissimilar to Vivec. But it was a parody of that great city for even from the distance I could smell it on the southerly wind. The stench of death and squalor and sour smoke born of too many people in a hot place with no purse liberal enough to clean it. Closer I saw how right I was for beneath the white towers was a mulch of dark slums. We marched on, the pace was not taxing but talk was discouraged so I pondered the distant city. Its size awed me a little and I wondered how my scheme could ever have seemed to contain a scrap of sanity, surely such an audacious yet ill-advised idea belonged in the realm of Sheogorath. Tear would not fall, could not from so small a force. But that did not mean our names would not be immortal.

Its size alarmed me for another reason though, how in such a vast place was I to find Varnan? He was a part of why I did this, now as much as ever for even my brief taste of the fate I landed him was enough to temper my resolve. I also wondered how much I had tied his salvation with my own but shook my head to rid it of the thought. Still it lingered. The want for skooma writhed within me like a worm, not yet a lust, but neither was my mind my own to control. It tried to think of what would come after this, if by some terrible chance I did survive. I pushed it aside as idiocy. Grey-tail had the truth, we went to our deaths. Was that a betrayal of Varnan, that I was likely to die in attempting rescue without ever seeing him? My thoughts skittered like the maddened shadows of a windblown lantern.

In the afternoon we arrived on the outskirts of the city. The road ran between low shacks of salvaged wood and cloth built without thought for sanitation or even transport. The streets between them were far to narrow for any cart. Their inhabitants were empty eyed ghosts drifting among the rubbish which lay in mounds either smouldering or festering in the sun's fierce heat. Few had shoes and all seemed to have some disease or another. We skirted past a bed of lepers. In its early stages the disease was easily cured, but not, it appeared, here. They sat in their own filth looking more wretched and hungry than even the locals. Closer to the city stone buildings began to crop up among the slums. Their whitewash was stained by damp and fungus. Some had small queues outside, others just a couple of hollow eyed dunmer pulling wildly on their hackle-lo before hurrying back in. One of these buildings had a broken sign which told the world it was a clothes factory. This was how the Dres kept their prices down then? Was there so much difference between their unseen lower class and the slaves in the field?

Abruptly the slums ended and we were in a short patch of open space. Before us the white cantons reached up heavenward from the filth. Like Vivec it stood knee deep, but not in water. Immediately before us there were three and behind more peaked through the gaps. A great stair ascended to the middle of the centre one where grand doors were flanked by guards. That was not for us however, we were led towards a gate in the wall which ran between the cantons. I observed all this more with interest than apprehension. The argonians we travelled with were not so calm, they fretted, doing a thousand little things of no consequence. Their eyes danced this way and that like a cornered deer. The difference was simple: they did not want to be here.

We were halted at the gate with a few cracks of the whip which I managed not to get in the way of. A long welt still throbbed on my back from earlier that day. I sidled up to Okun, "What now?"

He glanced around, I could smelt the fear on him, "Most likely we stand here while they sort out where we go. This is a huge train, it will be a while. Stay close."

I tried to look over the heads of those in front to see what was happening but argonians are tall and I saw little. A group was lead through the gate under heavy guard. The sun beat down like a hammer on the hard packed earth. I waited. Other groups, for it seemed most originated together, were split and lead within the gate to the unknown. There was something unnerving about them disappearing that way, the knowledge that I would soon pass through but having no idea of what I'd find was a predator amid my thoughts. I couldn't decide whether I wanted them to hurry up or slow down.

Then it was our turn. Several Dres guards surrounded us. Their smooth helmets covered their faces revealing only red eyes. The effect was exactly as intended: intimidation. What the helmets couldn't achieve the canes and whips did. With brutal efficiency they split the group. The edge of one caught me across the thigh though Okun took the brunt of it. We hastily pushed back into our half. A few spots of blood stained the division. I didn't need to try looking at the ground, the whips managed that. I did need to concentrate to stop my mind showing on my face. I would have given all the sugar in Elswer to be in a locked room with them and my sword. See how well their terror held there. The idea was a nice one and I didn't doubt it had been thought of by a million others before me.

"You fetchers from the mines get here now," his eye fell on me as the only human. I followed Okun out, face down and stood before him. Hides and Hassde appeared next to us. "You lot," said the guard, "Are a nuisance. Why weren't you on the books?" He lashed out with staggering speed punching Okun across the nose. I managed to stop myself in time. Just. It was for a better end, and it would be his end if I saw him. "You pair of swits that way," he menaced Hassde and Hides with the whip, "And you with that lot. Someone else's problem now."

Our group was lead in first. The guards surrounded us and closed us in tight before starting forward. I was carried by the weight of numbers, pushed from behind and pushing in front. We were herded though the gate and into the infamous slave-pens of Tear.

There were a lot of lines I would quote here, but I held myself down to two so as not to spam your thread. These are HUGE !!!!











Great Write!!!!!

Beautiful description of grim Tear (no, I don't know how to pronounce it in this context - sorry!). It really came to life for me.

Two nits that were consistently repeated, so I'll just sum them up:
The possessive form of 'it' is 'its'; 'it's' with the apostrophe is a contraction of 'it is.'
The past tense of 'to lead' is 'led'.

And one thing, not really a nit: I'm assuming you're referring to cantons here, or something similar to towers. Anyway, my first response was you meant peeked, but then after thinking about the visual image (tall, narrow buildings with steeply-pitched roofs), I wondered if your use of peaked might be more appropriate if you wanted to conjure up the resemblance of these rooflines to mountain peaks. I just wanted to verify that is the image you wanted to accomplish here.

There is so much I really liked about this post - not just the vivid description of Tear - - but also the doubts passing through Firen's mind - - and the processing of the slave train on arrival in the square at Tear - That's all I'm going to limit myself to - I could just quote the entire chapter, it was that well written. Bravo!

Oh, yes, and more, please!

I truly love this story; it's got it all! Drama, action, gore, politics, you name it! Awesome Olen!

Very strong stuff. Vivid descriptions of the squalor of Tear, equaled by the strength of the descriptions of being part of the slave train.

I really liked this turn of phrase:
a mulch of dark slums

As was this:
My thoughts skittered like the maddened shadows of a windblown lantern.

More!

Cheers for the replies. I'm glad you liked the description, action returns soon, don't worry.

As ever it was hononyms that tripped me up, I had no idea peeked was spelt like that.

And as requested:


37. In the Beast

We passed through the gate and the stench hit me like a hammer. Bodily smells of fear and pain mingled with the reek of blood and over it all the sickly stench of death. Screams and the crack of whips tore through the dark channels lit only by the second hand light from above. Cages lined the walls: some tiny, only permitting their occupant to sit cross-legged and bowed, others holding a score or more. We were driven through it between the screams and horrors and mad and broken. We passed a Khajit who wailed and cried and shrieked with every breath in spite of the ministrations of the guards. His, or her, for its fur was so matted I could not tell, mind was broken and gone for the brighter realms of sheogorath. Another slave lay dead in a small cage, his companion futilely trying to wave away the flies which settled on his staring eyes and black lips. Others were clearly dying either by disease or the brutalities of the guards. I wondered how deep a soul must venture into hell to find somewhere worse than this. Perhaps only the slavers would ever find out. And possibly myself.

On the corner of the first canton seven corpses hung by their necks. A sign below told that their loved ones tried to escape. The whips goaded us onward down another narrow channel. A circus of horrors and madness danced around us. I was shaken, I'd seen plenty, and done enough to populate endless nightmares, but this mechanical dread was different. There could be no god. No true god worthy of devotion, merely malevolent spirits grown fat and mad on their own power just as the blessed saints Almsivi. We turned down and left, toward the sea. Pipes emerged from the cliffs on either side and dribbled raw effluent into open sewers which were in places blocked and spread grey pools which turned the dusty earth to vile mud. It was by one of these that we were pushed into two adjacent cages. The whip initially came between myself and Okun but I forced my way to his side and into his cage.

The door clanged shut. I sighed, "This is a dark place."

"Now you see the true colour of the Dres," he replied, "And this is merely storage. Punishment is..." he broke off with a shiver, his tongue flickering between his scaly lips.

"Tomorrow things will be different here," we had arranged that the following day at the afternoon bell we would act in unison. Looking around I realised just how massive the casualties would be. This was no plantation with tools waiting to be taken up, the only weapons were in the hands of the guards. It made no difference, we genuinely had come too far to back down now and I wouldn't have if I could. This foul blot on Morrowind would be washed away on a red tide.

Okun nodded, "Yes. Yes, they will be. But I'm afraid."

"Fear does little good. What happens tomorrow is in the hands of fate, we must only choose the best path." He nodded and the silence stretched. I needed a plan to find Varnan, now I was so close. But I had doubts. I had used the argonians, gaining trust and then cajoling them into this fool's scheme. There would be blood, but I was a survivor. And a betrayer, my conscience warned. This was what the Argonian Defence Front had dreamed of though, I had merely realised that wish. And how many, in a fit of grief, have wished the world ended? Was I using them? Probably; but how else was I to rescue Varnan?

I realised I'd rubbed my arm red raw. The craving was becoming strong, the cat on my shoulder had its claws in deep and it was starting to get angry. Even so my mind didn't go near the cost of Varnan's freedom. How could it, for I would be costing my own salvation.

Neither of us had any desire to darken our already heavy moods with talk of the past and we didn't dare speak of the future least we were overheard. Instead we talked futilely of nothing and simply sat, trying to find a spot which we could pretend to be clean. The silences were broken by the sound of the slave pits. Screams. The crack of whips and tears of those who could not take it. I did not go to them, no one did. The very walls seemed to suck what little compassion I may have mustered like the last drops from an empty waterskin. I sat among the argonians profoundly alone and thought of Firewatch. Had it been so bad there? I'd had all I'd ever worked for, and for free. And most of all I had skooma, I so longed for its sickly sweetness and bitter tang on my throat. I was so weary that I managed some sleep, but a hedge of tangled dreams and bad memories of ill omen blocked me every time I might have gotten real rest.

***

They came for me at dawn. Three guards in blank helmets came into the cage with whip and cudgel and looked at each of us. Myself and four others were taken out, I think they chose the strongest, or most saleable as one was a young female who might have been shapely to those that way inclined. The other three, Okun included, were the healthiest looking and one was a trained miner. As I stepped from the cage the first guard kicked my feet from under me while another put the boot in. Perhaps I could have taken him down and made a fight of it but it would have been hard and the consequence worse than the beating I just took. Once they'd finished they bound my hands and ordered the rest out. They came sheepishly with their wrists ready.

Fear. That was what the place was built of. True there were cages of iron and walls of stone but the soul of the place was forged of fear. The guards did fear the slaves, simply due to their sheer number and so filled their minds so full of terror there was no space for revolt. Knowing it was no help though, the brutality of truth was that it worked. I was frightened of the guard, and of whatever might happen next. I knew there was little to be changed now, and indeed one way or another little to worry me, but there was still the fear of pain. The beating had hurt and I knew, just as the guards did, that they could issue that much, or more, pain whenever they wanted. I hurried to keep up with the lead but kept my eyes on the ground so they might not notice me. They led us toward the gate but at the corner we turned left toward the centre of the city. The surroundings remained much the same except for a canton ahead which looked different from the rest. It was not as high and had many doors at ground level as well as the bridges above which connected the others.

There was another group of slaves, all argonian, in front of us and also heading for the odd canton. They too had their hands tied. Were we to be sold so soon? A glance up suggested so as many Dres seemed to be going the same way in the walkways high above. I quickly returned my gaze to the ground.

Inside the great mart my suspicions were confirmed. There were more holding cells scattered amid a maze of passages. The guards deposited us at the end of a queue then left. Once they were safely out the way I moved just far enough into the corridor to see what we were waiting for. At the front of the queue an argonian was called forward. He faced the wall and a dunmer pulled a brush from a large pot and daubed something on his back. I edged out just a little further to see it was a number, so they sold by lots. Made sense. Just then I heard a heavy footfall behind me and jumped back into the queue but not before the guard saw. He menaced me with his club for a moment before he jabbed me in the breadbasket with his other hand and left.

"What are they doing?" whispered Okun.

"Numbering us," I managed between two wheezes.

We waited and the queue crept forward. Near the front it was easy to see what happened. I counted up the numbers. Two hundred and seventy five. Two hundred and seventy six. Two seventy seven. My turn.

"Next," barked the guard.

I hurried out.

"Face the wall," his bored tone threatened violence, if only to break the monotony. I did as ordered and put my hands on the stone, polished to a high sheen by a million before me. The brush licked my back like a cold tongue and sent shivers down my spine. I held still for another three strokes before the guard spoke again, "Follow the last one to the waiting cell."

I did. I also hid the anger which boiled within me. I had no desire to be two hundred and seventy eight, or any other number for that matter. Was I just a unit, a piece to be bought like a common animal. My nails dug into the hand they were bound to.

The system was not an efficient one, at least from the slaves' end. I waited there for hours occasionally attempting empty conversation with Okun but mainly riding the roundabout of chills and skooma sweats in a fog of bleak thoughts and hot anger. I couldn't help looking out from the barred door and wondering how many of those passing would see the sun set. How many had families? It didn't matter, the slaves were doing what must be done and I had little time for the slavers, this was not just a job. Mercenaries and hired swords are just making ends meet, even thieves and assassins. But not slavers.

Eventually a rough looking dunmer wandered in, he moved more like a drillmaster than the other thugs down here. He looked at us for a moment, "You're up next, when you get out there you're going to look good. Run round the mart twice, not so fast they don't see you but fast enough they know you're fit. You, human," he turned on me, "this goes for you especially. I want you to fetch a high price, if you don't there will be consequences."

We were lead to a stair which ended in a large door. The guard drew an knife and grabbed my arm cutting the bonds against the bracer. "Out there," he said and pointed at the arch of bright light.

I had not choice but to ascend and emerged into the bowl of a weird union of amphitheatre and guar mart. I wandered onto the sandy floor and looked up to see rows of dunmer occupying benches above, most seemed to be taking notes though some just watched. A guard by the door flicked his hand. I took the hint and started to run.

I don't know how you were able to top your previous chapters, but you have! This chapter is hard hitting and powerful from the first sentence to the end and merits re-reading several times - AWESOME WRITE !!!!!

Wow.... the description of the horrible situation the slaves are in.... The brutality of the guards.... just.... wow.

Wow.

I thought you topped yourself with your description of Tear, but this is even better! The emotional wreckage that is slavery, that touches not only the slaves but also the slavers themselves, is so well written here I'm hard put to think of another writer that does it as well. I think you captured it better than even Alex Haley himself. The feelings Firen experiences as he progresses through the slave pens and waits for his opportunity to strike are well drawn here.

And I loved this: A terrific way to describe what we commonly call "the monkey on my back" - I may have to borrow "cat on my shoulder" for my fiction! May I? Pleeeasse?

I didn't see any nits this time. Great job!

Impressive, most impressive. You created a scene of sheer horror in the slave pens, expertly conveying the mood of terror, outrage, and hopelessness that the slaves felt. Outstanding!

I agree with h.e.r. on the "cat on my shoulder" metaphor. It is perfect for ES!

This is fantastic, gruesome, glorious work. Keep 'em coming.

That's some heavy praise there... I'm glad you enjoyed it, this piece is quite short as it was that or a quite long part. Things happen at a rate now so i went for the shorter option.

As for the metaphor, of course you can use it. I think the RL one is american anyway (I've only ever come accross it in books by King) but it came to mind in the modified form and fitted far better with ES than anything else I could think of.


38. Fury

"Lots two hundred and seventy to two eighty. Fit and strong. Two seven eight is a rarity, a human of prodigious strength and stamina. Prime example." The lot caller shouted. I felt sick. It happens when the skooma runs out but I didn't dare let it show. Or it might have been at what I was doing and accepting. Perhaps I wouldn't have without the motive of vengeance but the others had no such excuse. I kept my eyes down, away from the peering crowds considering my worth like the most profound of judges. I was looking forward to this afternoon, and by the sun that was scarcely an hour away. I allowed myself and grin and ran back into the stair and underground.

We were taken to a second section of holding cells and again ordered to wait, presumably until the bidding finished. Okun wandered up behind me, "They could at least have decent handwriting."

I looked at him wondering if he was going as mad as the rest of the place.

"When they painted on you. I wonder how long do you think it took them to teach that fool to count."

I wasn't really listening. They hadn't rebound our hands and the cell was not only flimsy, it was also full of slaves who'd just undergone the same humiliation. Was I likely to get a better chance than this? I looked at Okun, "It might be time."

"But the afternoon bell hasn't sounded," he paused, "But yes. We're not likely to see a better chance and I don't want to wait any longer to get a piece of the Dres."

I let my hands slip down to my leg where the scroll was hidden within the trouser lining. I dug my nails into the seam at the back and pulled. They ripped. I eased out the parchment, its enchantment stirred. "I've got one of the big ones," I said, "Get your copy of Morden's Instigator ready in case this goes wrong."

He nodded, already rummaging by his leg. I was into the lining of mine but was attracting questioning looks from those around me. We were near the back of the crowded cell but a guard must have noticed them looking and shouted, "Human what are you doing? What is that. Get here."

My insides turned, I'd hoped to have rather more time but I nodded and acquiesced. At least until I was in the midst of the group when I whipped the scroll up and held it out as I read. It was simple enough, unlike the one Skink had given me. There was a similar sense of worry though, experimental magic is the source of many bar tales. Being turned to paté is a funny story until it's about you. The guard gave a shout and threw the door open to get to me. But it was too late.

"Psheneechya xortuchya nemiroff," I read. The scroll crumbled in a howl of magic.

A blast of anger scattered everything from my mind leaving only rage. It burned hotter than the white pits of hell, every injustice I'd borne and hate I'd felt glowed like the noon sun. A pyre to be quenched in blood. Glancing around I saw the argonians the same, hissing, spitting their lips drawn back to reveal needle teeth. I launched myself at the guard but couldn't reach him as a pile of scaled bodies dived on him. Blood and fragments flew as they just tore him apart. Outside other slaves down the corridor were going berserk. A guard killed one before his fellow lashed out. I dived from the cage and into bedlam.

There was not thought but to kill the nearest Dres. A slaver stood there cudgel in hand. In two bounds I was on him with animal ferocity. The wolf within was free. I fought with fists and nails and teeth. His cudgel flew from his hand as I hit him, my knee went to his crotch and he doubled with a high scream. Then I had him by the ears kneeing his face until my leg hurt and I was soaked in blood. Another staggered at me. I stopped pulverising the dead slaver's face and launched myself at the next one. The weight of my attack bowled him over and I howled with glee. The howl cut off as I sunk my teeth into his throat tasting hot blood. He stilled. I jumped twice on his head to be sure and scooped up his club for the next target.

Dead slaves littered the ground among the guards but with the stolen weapons the tide turned. Although more guards flooded in I could hear fighting immediately above in the arena and down the corridors to the side. Some guards still fought amongst themselves. I swept up behind two neatly breaking their skulls. A madness was on me, they were beasts masquerading as men, worthy only of destruction. More enraged slaves poured from another pen. I looked to see Okun had opened it and smiled before picking up a dying dunmer and caving his face in.

The next couple of minutes passed in a buzz of blood and madness. I waded through the dead and dying to find more to add to my collection. A hate like nothing else consumed me, reason alone could no longer support its tumescent growth which blossomed like fungus in my mind. I couldn't reason, and didn't want to, the anger was an ecstasy which thrilled in my veins. A guard's hand was severed by another slave and the blood squirted out burning in my eyes. But it was the fresh explosion of rage which blinded me, I struggled even to breath as I fell on him beating the corpse past pulp well after he had departed this hell. But slowly reality returned and the madness passed, the magic wore off and I looked around. I blinked as, quite suddenly, the rage died leaving only the embers of my own, natural, anger. The scroll had been brutally, awfully efficient. The sounds of fighting still rang though the halls and from the pens outside but around me I saw the light of madness leave my fellow argonians' eyes.

I stood where the corpses were piled one atop another and looked over the devastation. Dazed survivors glanced about in a mixture of horror and satisfaction at what I had wrought, the dead lay strewn everywhere. There was not a Dres in sight who did not lie in a pool of blood but so too did many slaves, for just as they had outnumbered the slavers in life now so too did they in death. A sacrifice which must be made. "Freedom," I said. The survivors looked to me, "Now you see what can be done together. At a price, yes," I waved at the human abattoir, "But a price worth paying to go free and to end the Dres. If you wish then run now, but for those who are noble." I paused. They all looked and I knew I had them, "Let us free all our brothers and let Tear burn!" The afternoon bell rang with the final word.

Wow! That scroll sure worked! Let Tear Burn!

I liked the description of the scroll's enchantment stirring. It is very evocative.

This was a particularly good metahpor:
its tumescent growth which blossomed like fungus in my mind.

More!

nits:

away form the peering crowds considering my worth like the most profound of judges.
Just a typo on from here.


I ? how long do you think it took them to teach that fool to count.
I think you missed a word where I put the question mark in. Probably wonder?


There was not thought but to kill the nearest Dres.
You probably wanted no there.

Your description of the scrolls effects was amazing! Who would think to descibe it like that? Your mind is brilliant, as is your writing! I loved this!

Amazing.

The violence triggered by the scroll is overwhelming, and your description of it very effective. It was like I was caught up in the effect of the scroll and subsumed by anger.

The chapter was well titled!

Awesome!! You should be writing horror

The concept of illusion spells always fascinated me in game. I've always felt there was something uniquly sinister about using magic to make someone attack you so you could kill them legally. In fact the whole of that side of magic: command, frenzy, demoralise etc. all struck me as far more sinester than a bit of necromancy. I'm glad you liked it.

Thing's move faster from now I'd say...


39. Varnan

A cheer rose as I stood down, already three heavily built lizards were running for another section holding dead guards' weapons. I spat, my words tasted of death. At my feet a dunmer moaned, I knelt and grabbed his hair, "I am looking for someone," I said, "An imperial slave from up north."

"Could be anyone," he spluttered and blood dribbled over his lip.

"He came on a train from Alt Bosara, lead by a dunmer named Inren Dres. Blond hair."

The broken face tried to smile, and the dunmer gave a spluttering laugh, "The mad one? Yes I know him."

"Where? I'll ease your ending."

He laughed again, "His mind? It comes and goes. One day mad as a marsh rat, the next fine and sane, the next? Who knows, maybe he watches the wall, maybe he raves, maybe fine again and we try to sell him if he can stay himself long enough. We almost did today."

I banged his head off the ground, "Where?"

He groaned then pointed, "Round that corner and to the right. Third cell."

"Thanks," I said and enacted my promise.

I was still brushing his brain from my chest when I met Okun. He looked as if at a wolf, or a madman. "I think," he said, "The scroll worked. The plan?" he licked his lips, "Well."

"What happened?" I asked. I'd seen him releasing more in the bloodlust, but not partaking.

"I was hatched under the atronach," he replied, "Magic does not always effect me. But I see the scroll worked, quite spectacularly." He nodded at the litter of corpses.

"Enough are free that the revolt will spread. Hides and Hassde will have set a similar blast off somewhere else, I saw smoke down past where we spent the night. I can only surmise..."

"So what now?"

Therein lay the rub. I sought Varnan, not the best for the escapees. I could have avoided the issue but I owed Okun more than that, "There is a friend of mine somewhere near. I shall release him and open cages I pass this way. You do similar in the other way, and remember, they seek a leader. As their saviour that is a burden you will bear."

"What of you?"

"I have urgent business. Now keep the revolt boiling, but do not pause in fleeing when it flags," I had intended to run then but could not. I stopped looking him in the eye, "You know your mind well enough and have the will to see it through. Do as you will, but remember what I first said. Make your own decisions, do not wait for events to push you."

He nodded slowly.

It was all I could manage, and it was a betrayal, however dressed up I made it. I returned the nod once and ran away, and around the corner out of his sight, so dreadful in its lack of accusation. It was a narrow corridor between two rows of cells. The jailer lay dead at my end of it, I rifled through his pockets and came up with a ring of keys. The first cell was empty but the second contained a Khajit chained to a wall. I tried a key at random in the lock. Fortunately it was the wrong one for when he looked up I recoiled from the madness which burned in his eyes. He threw himself at the door and fell to the ground with a grinding of chains. I pulled the key out; he could stay there.

I hurried on to the third cell and put my face against the bars. Near the back an emaciated man looked at me through a straggle of blond hair. An ugly scar puckered one of his shoulders. Varnan. In spite of his haggard condition I savoured the moment, I had decided to go and rescue him. My choice and my will against the world; and I had succeeded. The sound of battle from somewhere ahead returned my sense of urgency and I tried a key.

At the sound he looked up. I tried a second and a flicker of recognition passed behind his dark bagged eyes. The third opened the door and I stepped in.

"Firen?" he said as if he barely believed his own voice.

"Yes Varnan, I've come to get you out," I put out a hand to help him up.

He was shaky on his feet but steady enough, he studied me, "Are you real or just some phantasm," he murmured before he spoke out loud, "How... no that can wait. I suppose," a crashing and cut-off scream interrupted him. "We need to move. Gods be praised you caught me on a good day. I have such terrible dreams and visions. I scarcely believe this can be real, but perhaps. It is not so bad as the others."

So the guard was right, he was mad. Perhaps it was the stresses of slavery and the memory of the ruin which had warped his mind, but I suspected not. Whatever had happened in that ruin had done something to him and I had left him barely conscious with the Imperial Cult back in Firewatch. Had he been mad there? Was it simply taken as fever ravings? It was too much to deal with and brought uncomfortable thoughts which I had kept buried in a mound of skooma. "Come on," I said, "I think we had best find a place to hide."

The slave market in the centre of town had many doors and I had intended to hide there with him, but the sounds of battle still raged inside and smoke poured from many windows so I turned to the adjacent cantons. The one at the opposite end of the cell block had a hatch in its wall low above an empty cage and I made for it. I stepped from the other end of the cell block my eyes fixed on the best way up.

Had the guard not given a shout it would have been a fatal blow, instead I half turned and half ducked it. He wasn't just a slaver, he was an officer of the law and knew how to handle his sword. He wore bonemold armour in the Dres style, long spikes pointed from his pauldrons, and their blue and yellow sash. I dodged his next swing and his stance became more aggressive.

"On the ground slave, I might spare you. This little... farce will not go unpunished." His next swing was fast. I avoided it, but only barely. My usual tactics weren't going to work and Varnan looked in no state to leg it. Take the fight to him, force him to do what you want, I remembered a lesson I'd taken years ago for this sort of thing. I'd never really expected to need it.

I stepped forwards and to his right. He made a quick forehand slash: it was all he could do. I made to dodge but too slowly, he committed more but I already knew how he had to move. The sword met the slave bracer with a jarring clash of metal pulling my arm up over me. It took my balance but his was worse and as he tried to rein in the wild swing I grabbed his pauldron, slammed my elbow into the front of his helmet and pushed my foot through the side of his knee. He fell with a cry, though not the crunch I'd hoped for. I grabbed his sword hand and twisted like opening a doorhandle. He screamed at the crack which rewarded my efforts. I twisted the sword, still in his grip, and drove it between his cuirass and greaves. Blood poured out.

"Up there," I said to Varnan as I fiddled with the buckle on his sword belt. I pulled it off the dead guard and put it on pushing the sword home and followed him up the lattice iron cage. He was slower than I would have liked an seemed unable to use his right arm. Once on top of the cage the goods door was at my shoulder height, I used the sword as a lever and the bolt gave a splintering sound and pulled clear from the wood of the door. I threw the sword in and hauled myself up into the dull room. It was musty and had a disused feel, assorted junk and crates lay around as though whoever owned them had forgotten, or died. When Varnan didn't appear next to me I looked down. He was trying to get up one armed and failing. Most of the muscle had gone from him and his ribs protruded all down his back. Lines of scars made a checked pattern over them like the iron cages or a farmer's shirt on his skin. Attempt to cure the madness, I supposed, the Temple went in for similar, not that it was ever successful.

I knelt and gave him a hand up into the store. The flesh on his right shoulder was twisted and boiled where Renera had planted the dagger. I wondered what she did now, had someone caught and killed her? I had failed there, but now I was successful. I sat down on a rat gnawed grain sack and looked at Varnan, "It's been a while."

Bleah, there goes my breakfast for sure! Riveting action from start to end, your detail and descriptions as always are perfection even when (GAK) gross. I could not tear my eyes from the page, AWESOME write!!!!

Yay! Firen found Varnan!
But he left Okun behind?

Wonderful chapter, very well written. Varnan's condition is well-described, and consistent with what we have seen of the Dres slavers so far.

One nit (rather, two in one sentence, but . . .)
Rain, rein, reign, go away. Come back another day -- oh, wait, it's a nit. I think you want rein here, it refers to pulling something back (from rein, the leather straps used to control horses). Reign means to rule. Oh, and the second part looks like your words were leapfrogging a bit, shouldn't it read: pushed my foot?

Very gritty, very bloody, very painful, and very - well, emotional in its own right. Though I've never been in combat, I've seen the aftermath of some very traumatic incidents, and what you describe are, like I said before, very consistent with the context.

Outstanding!

O.K., I have finally caught back up. Here are my impressions:

33. Enemy of my Enemy

I find the difference between the way Firen sees himself and the way that the world sees him fascinating. He seems to regard himself as more or less normal, a veteran of one too many battles perhaps, grizzled around the edges definitely, but more or less normal for all of that. Yet here he is, preparing lay siege to a city with an army of four individuals (including himself) and he already has a plan! Not to mention the fact that his name alone cowed Mabrel and forced her to listen to his proposition. Firen may be a lot of things, but ‘normal’ isn’t one of them.

34. No Return

Here again we see the qualities of leadership in Firen effectively displayed. Face it, if anyone else hands Hides a pair of slave bracers that person is going to be eating a dagger. Only an exceptional leader could ask a group of Argonians to willingly don slave bracers, weak enchantment or no.

35. First Taste


I love this paragraph! The first sentence alone is worth publishing. The way that you use Firen’s inner monologue to move him to action is spot on. To paraphrase Val Kilmer’s Doc Holliday in Tombstone:

That’s what I love about Firen, he can talk himself into anything.

36. Tear

Let me add my own voice to the chorus of praise heaped upon you for the incredibly effective description of Tear. I have always been of the understanding that it is pronounced ‘teer’, as in a tear on the pillow, as opposed to ‘tare’ as in a tear in the pillow. I don’t make that assumption based upon anything that could be found in the lore, but to me it just sounds right. Especially given what all accounts depict as happening there.

37. In the Beast

This whole chapter is a quote fest. I fear that if I start singling out the passages that I liked I won’t stop until I’ve spammed the whole chapter into your thread. So I will refrain from exposing myself to temptation.

Okay, maybe just a few:

Just great!
And this:

I said before that you have an amazing understanding of the self-loathing that attends self-destructive behavior. It also appears that you have a profound understanding of the single word that informs the life of a slave.

I could go on, but this post is already too long and I still have chapters to go.

nits:

I’m not completely sure what you were trying to do with this sentence. My guess is that you meant ‘of the mad and broken’.

Not a nit per say, just an observation:

Given the world of the story, I can see how a character might feel more comfortable saying ‘oblivion’ instead of ‘hell’.

38. Fury

DEATH TO THE DRES!! LET TEAR BURN!!!

After all that they have experienced in Tear’s slave pens, the unleashing of the spell and the carnage that followed was wonderfully cathartic.

I especially like the fact that you tie it all up with the ring of the afternoon bell. (another observation here is that you might think to call it the mid-day bell).

39. Varnan

At long last Firen accomplishes his goal. I for one was not disappointed with the way that he left it with Okun. I think that the young Argonian will make a splendid leader for the new Argonian Liberation Front. I agree with haute that Varnan’s condition and mental state were well-described.

I would have liked to know more of how Hides and Hassde fared, but I suppose that is a question for another chapter. This story continues to get better and better.

MORE!

Whew! Very fast-paced and action-packed. The final goal is now finally in sight. Varnan. The man whom Firen has essentially sold his soul for. It looks like he has not been so lucky as Firen since the last story however. The guard's having tortured him to try to make him sane was a nice touch. It seems so very like Morrowind.

I am not surprised that Firen would leave Okun to his own devices. That was his plan all along after all. To be honest, it is rather surprising that Okun and the other two survived as long as the did. People around Firen have a habit of dying...

Now the big question is, what next? How are our two going to escape from Tear? Not an easy proposition, especially seeing that Firen is the most wanted man in Morrowind.


nits:
At my feet and dunmer moaned,
That should probably be a dunmer

I loved it. All the nits have been picked so I will refrain.

AWESOME!!

MORE!!

Cheers to all for the comments, I'm glad it's enjoyed.

mALX - I'm glad you liked it, if you think that last part had nasties... well... just wait until the final 'act'

Haute - another spelling I was previously unaware of... I'm glad you though it retained its sort-of realism, to be honest there's only one way a fight between a trained person with a sword and someone without would go but it is fantasy and in close a sword is fairly useless.

Destri - that's quite a comment. Thanks
the difference between the way Firen sees himself and the way that the world sees him fascinating - bang on, I was sort of going for that. Everyone think's they're more or less normal and I've tried to paint things from his point of view... Sort of ties in with him convincing himself to do things, I wanted things from within his head.
I sort of agree on the 'hell'/'oblivion' front but as with using the word 'grail' the connotations are important and lore friendly words don't offer that so I sometimes go against it.

SubRosa - Thanks for the compliments. You're spot on with the stuff about Firen and what next... As far as essentially tortureing the mad it's morrowind but it's within living memory that it was still done in the western world...

Remko - I'm glad you like it, and as requested:


40. The Test of Choice

Success. No more was I a leaf upon tempestuous fortune. I had set my course, and had reached my destination. Varnan was rescued, leaving Tear would be possible in the chaos, once the battles were ended. He was free. I tried a smile but it didn't sit well on my face, how many had died for this moment? My treacherous thoughts drifted back to that wild night in Firewatch then to the flames of the plantation and the dunmer woman's terrified eyes. It was right that he was free but the swathe of devastation left in my wake gave me pause. Perhaps this was the cost of free choice, maybe I'd have been better allowing events to shake me from the course.

A clash of steel brought me to the present and I peered out. A guard and two slaves had met in the street. The first argonian was already dead and the second as hard pressed. I rose to help him but stopped, it would give us away and soon another would step in. After a few moments it became clear that I was his only chance of help. Varnan stared into space mouthing words. I sat on the edge between thought and action. To help was to support the revolt I began, to go back on my betrayal and take more responsibility. I knew where that led, but to sit idle while a fellow died could not be the right thing. I thought not of the guard, his decision was made, but even as I drew the stolen sword the point was moot. The guard drove a brutal slash across the argonian who fell dead by indecision. I sat again an the guard walked on, unknowing.

Varnan rocked back and forward his eyes intent on something I could not see. "Varnan," I said and put a hand on his shoulder. "Calm."

His hand flew over mine clamping it there, "Soon," he hissed, "Fires within fires, doors within doors. Soon. Now he is near; forces move Tear." His hand fell away, its sudden strength gone. I was aghast. Perhaps the shock of the riot and seeing me had finally broken his mind. What then? Was all for nothing? Then he spoke again, his voice his own, "Sorry. I lost myself, it happens in the quiet. I think, my mind leaves the present. They think I'm mad."

"What was all that..." I struggled for a word, "Muttering, about 'soon' and the like?"

"What? Ignore what I said, my mind had wandered."

There was no doubt he was insane. Perhaps it was just the time in slavery after the bungled mission, but I suspected not. Something had happened in the ruin, of that I had no doubt. The thing, for man it most certainly was not, had known necromancy. Renera had said as much, and something about Sloadic books and taking bodies. I cursed my ignorance of magic for I had no way of knowing what could be. Renera had done something with something which was in Varnan and had lost. It was in her, but had been in Varnan. That, I suspected, was the root of his madness, but the root made no odds, either way I would get him out and hope it went away.

***

We sat in the store for a time, the sounds of fighting rose and fell throughout the city, acrid smoke drifted from somewhere I could not see, yet it wasn't as loud as it should have been. Worry and possibilities ran though my mind eroding paths into my will. They needed led, apparently there was no strong knight ready to throw down the yoke and fight for life and liberty. That left me. I laughed: it was that or breakdown completely. I could feel my mind's frayed edges. Their best hope was an addict spread thin as cuttle on a temple sandwich. The shakes were burning, my hair all stood on end. I was cold but sweaty. And I was quite possibly their only chance.

But I had chosen this path now, I had betrayed them. What for, the skooma asked, All this for Varnan? Or for yourself? I tried to shake the thoughts away, but as ever failed. To do so much to save someone I'd worked with once? That was the realm of heroes, and my red wake left no chance of that. Clammy sweat drenched my underarms, a pang of withdrawal hit my gut like a dull blow, my actions were not the product of a good man. I'd sought to do the right thing, to make amends for what I was, to escape it. I had revealed a monster. The right path was clear now. But it was not the one to success. If escaping now with Varnan still, or ever, was. Outside cinders danced in the smoke, like the spirits of slaughtered dreams.

Varnan stirred and I rose from my thoughts but then he was calm again. He listened to the sound of history being forged. A noise of blood and pain and steel. It was for him I'd done all this, I had given them what they wanted and now I was done. The bitter taste of betrayal lingered. Before my thoughts could fall into their well worn black spiral a group of slaves ran down the street below. I crept to the door and looked out. They had a harried look and from behind them came the shout of guards. They slowed to a clumsy stop, in front was a second group of guards. It was five, maybe six Dres against twenty or more and I couldn't see why the slaves were afraid. But the fear which imbued the lower levels of Tear was in them, watering their resolve and rusting any iron their souls might have had. Even so, they had numbers on their side.

They moved like sheep, each trying to avoid distinction. The guards were the wolves, they moved in and the argonians shrank away. Then they held, my spirit lifted with them but it was short lived, with the first blow from the guards their line turned to water and the guards were amongst them. With dread for the future I knew I could not stand by. Not this time. I picked up the sword, it was heavy with responsibility. "Follow," I said to Varnan and burst out the door and over the cage.

I fell on the guards from behind, they were dispatching the slaves with brutal efficiency but were not ready for the fury which took them. I didn't let them turn. I didn't issue any challenge, or parley. I struck and I killed. The first two were dead before they realised but the other three turned and saw me. They moved trying to get round my guard but they were amid the argonians. I readied myself but before they rushed me a slave punched one then another broke a plank over the head of the guard nearest me. I tried to seize the chance but he blocked me and countered. It missed by a margin but I was tied. In my peripheral another approached my side. This would have to end soon but the guard knew he need only to hold out for a few moments and defended hard but showed no aggression.

I tried a series of increasingly wild moves, he defeated them but made no move to counterattack even when I was open. His sole intention was holding me for his fellow then. That was fine. I made a feint to his shield then swept my sword down and up in an arc whose floridity was more semblant of a child playing than a trained warrior. I was rewarded with its point pushing through a joint at his hip. Blood poured out and he backed off. I moved in for the finish but he had held long enough. His fellow was almost on me from behind and slightly left. I couldn't evade both. I half turned, the one I'd stabbed would be slower, if I killed the other he would get me, but perhaps I could take him too. I tensed for the final moment as the second went to lunge.

Then he fell forward. Varnan was borne down by the ferocity of his attack, a kitchen knife was embedded in the back of the dunmer's neck. I faced my first opponent again but he had been quick and his sword end opened my left arm. Had it not been for the slave bracer deflecting the blow it would probably have taken the hand clean away. He had left himself open though. A final lunge showed him his error and he fell face down in the mud. I turned for the third but it was done. The slaves surrounded his corpse beating it with planks and iron bars but he was clearly dead and had been for some time if the pool of blood and mince his misshapen body lay in was any judge. As I approached them their frenzy slowed and they stopped.

The one nearest me looked up then beamed, "Cidus," he said, "You are most welcome."

I wondered for a moment what he was speaking about then I realised it was Chalur, the argonian I'd met in the slave train. "Hello Chalur. What have you seen?"

"I was in the north pits when everyone went wild, I think I saw magic before the rage took me. We threw off and tore the guards to pieces," his glee was a sharp juxtaposition to my own disgust, "But since then we are normal again. And frightened. All the northern cantons burn now but the Dres control them. Their guards are many and cruel, and even though they're in disarray we cannot win."

"If you stood together you would."

He nodded, "It won't happen."

He was right, not one of them was a soldier. A lifetime of obeying had taken its toll and now they couldn't do anything without being led. His eyes told me he knew what needed done, but was unable to take it on himself. The drawn out crash of a falling structure accompanied my thoughts. I sought the best option but it was foreign to me. If this group was anything to go by, and I suspected they were, Tear was lost. I hadn't planned this far, perhaps because I didn't expect it to get here but maybe because this was all that could happen. Already the full might and wealth of the Dres would be moving against us. The question was not just could I unify the scattered slaves against the Dres and lead them away, but should I even try. A great leader would have. He would be a shining paladin uniting the slaves to victory or to a glorious defeat from which legends would spring. I am not a great leader.

"Very well," I nodded to Chalur before shouting out in argonian, "Those who can grab what weapons you can. We're leaving Tear."

I looked to Varnan but he didn't offer any ideas. The burden was mine, and I chose the safe option, attacking the plantation had been bold, and even attempting Tear bolder. Both caused far more pain than joy, and I shied the third audacity. Perhaps Okun would try it, if he did he would die. The choice was impossible, but at least there was a good chance I would get this group out.

We hurried through streets which crackled with tension. The occasional survivor joined us, others passed by, more hid. Mostly we saw the dead though, the fighting had been fierce, slaves, guards and civilians lay in sanguine piles, perhaps the madness appealed to some god who pulled my strings. I didn't follow the thought, to ponder gods is to court madness. Instead I paid the dead what respect I could and looked upon what I had wrought.

"They will hate me," I mused aloud.

"Yes," said Varnan, "But I understand your choice. There will be no victory in Tear, now or perhaps ever, only losses on every hand."

Very cool and creepy how you portrayed Varnan! Is it madness he suffers from, or insight? Or both? His words make me suspect that Renera may not be far either. Somehow I get the feeling that we will be seeing her again before all of this is over.

Outside cinders danced in the smoke, like the spirits of slaughtered dreams.
This is an outstanding line!

Now to see if Firen ends up the same as Spartacus did...

nits:
They needed led, apparently there was no strong knight ready to throw down the yoke and fight for life and liberty.
Led is past tense or past participle, and is a little awkward here. Changing it to "to be led" would smooth it out.


A lifetime of obeying had taken its toll and now they couldn't do anything without being lead.
The tense is wrong here, it should be led.


slaves, guards and civilians lay in sanguine piles,
You need a comma between "slaves" and "guards".

Another quote fest! This time I won’t even try to restrain myself. In addition to what Sage SubRosa pointed out, I really enjoyed these:


This is pretty much a contextually perfect sentence!


How wonderfully evocative this is!


I really like what you were going for here . . . ‘watering’ and ‘rusting’. If I may be so bold, I think that ‘damping’ might work better. ‘Watering’ gives the indication of their resolve as something that could grow.


How symbolic, we all know what happens to the best laid plans.

It seems that events are conspiring to force Firen into being a hero despite his best efforts.

There really is nothing I can say that SubRosa and Destri haven't already said.

Each post just keeps getting better than the last! As you started off at such a high level of quality, my hat's off to you for continuing to improve post by post. It's mighty hard to do, but you do it well.

What Destri and Hauty both said. Your imagery shines in so many places it would spam your thread to post them all. Destri hit on a couple of my favorites. Each time I think you have to have hit your peak with this story you out-do yourself in the next chapter. Awesome Write Olen!!!!

what hautee said goes for me too; loved it. Consequences and introspections... great!

OK, Olen, so now you naturally think I'm NOT reading your story? Well that's not true, because I do! I'm having a hard time trying to keep up with all the literature on this site...yessir a very hard time!

But I read....and enjoy....and I'm so impressed of all the excellent reads here...



(gah I'll never dare to post Serene again! )

Thanks for the comments.

SubRosa - I think we might just be seeing Renera again... Thanks for pointing out the nits, I kept 'They needed led,...': to me 'to be led' felt more cumbersome, it's possibly an accent thing.

Destri - you've captured the essence of the story there, event keep conspiring around him and pushing him on. I'm glad you liked some of the lines.

Haute - thanks, that's mighty high praise there.

mALX - glad you liked it, though I think I may have briefly peaked. This part is a bit of a filler really to get from one place to another.

Remko - thanks

Minque - it's quite a feat keeping up with all the litrature on this site if you've not got endless free moments through the day like myself... As Destri said Wise Woman indeed. I'm glad you're enjoying it. And don't stop posting Serene I'm enjoying it (albeit at a bit of a snails pace though that will change when I have time again).

All - there might be a bit of a hiatus now as I'm knackered. I've not had a day off since mid april and come friday will have done the eigth (and blessedly final) exam so won't be next to the computer all day every day. I'll try to get something up before I move house at the begining of june though.


41. Reunion

I shot Varnan a look to check he wasn't going mad again but his face held only melancholy. Sparks rained on a street I would have taken as the canton to one side blazed, at the other end some dunmer formed a frantic bucket chain. For all its fevered energy it would fail, the fire was established and the cries for help would go unanswered. We hurried on another way and heard more cries from our right. They were argonian but also from deeper in the slave pits. The interest of the group was to ignore them, but it was not what they wanted, that was clear. I had a penance to do for my decision, compromises to weaken its power. I lead them down the alley from which the screams emanated.

Pipes dribbled sewage from above and the stench was strong enough even to obliterate even the pall of smoke which shrouded Tear in shades of grey. The fighting had been less intense here but the pens lay open and there were fewer corpses. The dark walls crowded us, I hurried between them, suddenly the urge to be out of Tear was strong in me but the cries continued. Through the smoke ahead I saw their source, a handful of argonians were still in a cage at the corner were the smoke was thickest. I rushed forward to aid them. The sooner they were out the sooner we could be away, the smoke really was thick, it was hard to judge in the narrow wynds between the cantons but the fires seemed to be spreading. It would go badly for any in the pits if they were.

I rushed to the front of the cage and caught a hint of movement behind me. My only option was to drop and roll as the arrow whooshed where my head had been only to plunge into the crowded cage. I tried to use my momentum to propel myself up but an armoured boot hit me. I looked up into the blank armoured face of a Dres guard. An ambush. He raised his sword for a killing blow. With desperate fever I slashed my own at his groin, he brushed it away. I tried to scrabble up but he kicked the side of my head and I collapsed back into the dirt, my sword flew from my hand. I grabbed for it with my left but the wound was bleeding again and I couldn't grasp it. With awful slowness his sword rose. I saw the grim red stains on the blade, it was notched with minuscule inverse gravestones, each a monument to a death. The mud under me was cloying, the pain in my arm a deadened throb. This was how it ended. I watched the blade.

Then the guard gave a start, shock blazed in his shadowed eyes before they retreated back into the helm like dying embers. The sword fell from his grasp. It landed on my chest cutting to the bone, but had not the weight to break through. I gave a cry of pain but it was deadened by the urgency of the moment. I pushed myself upright to see an arrow sticking from the guard's back. Varnan had run into the fray with a dagger but he was being hard pressed by a single guard. I looked for the source of the arrow. As if in answer a second story door, like the one I'd hidden in, burst open and a few argonians spilled out. They were armed to the hilt with swords and spears, a single archer still stood up there.

Another arrow missed its target and hammered into a barrel. I bent to scoop up my sword and an argonian with a billhook ran past and into the guard behind me. I'd thought the billhook was an unusual choice, then saw the mutilated tail. It was Okun. I grabbed my sword and stood. Varnan held his own against the guard he faced, but no more, my group of escapees stood watching in fear. I moved awkwardly, I wasn't sure of the extent of the wound, and pushed my sword into the guard's back. His sword fell and Varnan, rather unnecessarily, stuck his dagger into the corpse's side.

My rescuers had already dealt with the rest so I staggered to a wall and leant against it, the heavy sword dropped from my fingers. The wound was long, and the blood had already soaked my trousers, together with my arm I had lost enough to feel sick and a little weakened. The flow had slowed though and the wound wasn't deep enough to be dangerous. But it hurt. Okun walked towards me.

"Firen," he said, "I wondered where you were. Getting that lot out?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Mind if we join you? The battle for Tear is over, not that it ever began. We've lost, there are barely any who remain free in the north or by the docks. There's just no will to fight in any of them," he shook his head, "I don't think there ever could have been a victory. Certainly not now."

I nodded and wondered how long I'd suspected that. They were slaves, my perception of normal had been more skewed by a life among fighters than I'd thought. "Yes. Did any good come of it?" I meant it rhetorically.

But Okun answered, "Yes. Most have been recaptured and many more will be. They will suffer, but so have the Dres," he looked to the dirty sky. "Their capital burns, their populace has been massacred, their income decimated," he gestured to the dead slaves which lay here and there forgotten on the ground, "And enough will escape Tear that some will return to the marshes."

So it was a victory to kill those we sought to rescue, not that such had ever been my first intention. I looked at Varnan who stood ushering the group of slaves forward. I had succeeded but the pall of smoke and stench of death across a land lay heavy on that victory. How many had been killed? I wondered what I had intended, or was I just thrashing away like a blinded beast?

"We should be moving," said Okun.

"Yes," I replied then shouted, "follow me again," and set off back down the narrow alley towards freedom.

I was careful as we moved on, wary of another ambush. I glanced round corners to see only the blank stares of the dead. We walked though a city made a necropolis, I hated even to consider the blood cost of that day, and pondered what place in hell there was for me. After a while in silence I turned to Okun, "Anything of Hides and Hassde?"

He frowned, "I think Hides may have lead a small group away. I could be wrong but a few things I heard point that way..."

"Hassde?"

The frown changed to a grimace, "We found his corpse... well most of it."

I couldn't think of a reply.

Another well-written chapter. I like Firen more and more as I watch him struggle with the consequences of his decision. I was glad to see Okun again, and to see the two link up in the way of comrades without too much discussion. After all, the aftermath of a failed battle is not the place for discussion. It was good to see the two characters (and insane Varnan, in his moments of lucidity) share the same common goal - get as many of the slaves out of Tear as possible.

You can't save them all, but as in the story of the starfish, it matters to the one you do save.

Good work! I'll be sorry to see a slow down in the pacing, but I recall exams all too well. Take your time to recover and recharge your batteries, and come back when you feel like writing again. Please don't forget us, or Firen!

I'm with Hauty on this one. I understand the final exams stressors and the need to just sink for a while when it is over - but ARGH!!!! Lol. An Awesome write as usual !!!!

PS: I'm glad you followed up on Okun, I had gotten attached to him, lol.

The Dres soldier put notches on his sword to record everyone he killed? Wow. It is guys that like who make Firen look good in comparison. Which is important to do when you protagonist is an anti-hero as he is, rather than your standard hero.

We also see that in spite of everything he has been through, Firen still grasps onto his conscience. I suspect that many people who have through the same would have forced themselves silence that sense of right and wrong by now. Then again, that was one thing the skooma was for, and now Firen no longer has its comforting oblivion to lose himself in. I can almost feel sorry for him.

A bittersweet ending to the battle of Tear. Like everyone else I was glad to see Okun again. I also like that he held on to his billhook even though there are swords around for the taking.

I hope that at some point Firen and his group reunite with Hides and her group of slaves. She was a character that I was really starting to enjoy.

Speaking of enjoyment, after all those exams you need to get out and enjoy yourself! Don’t worry about us; we’ll be here when you get back.

Well less of a break than I thought probable, though there remains the potential for a larger break now I have no regular set of things to do. But equally there might not be.

Haute - I think you've more or less captured the point of this bit of the story as Firen struggles with his conscience... I'm glad you like it. As for recharging it's amazing what a decent night of sleep (without physics based dreams) does.

mALX - funny you should say that about Okun. He didn't appear in any of the plans and then was meant to be a throw away character to mirror on Firen but I got to like him and he ended up being fairly central.

SubRosa - the notches in the sword were more meant as the effect of swinging it into someone and chipping the blade on armour, jewelery (even bone if it's poor iron) then not reedging the blade often. As far as the skooma comment I can say ":)", changing his surroundings and so him was pretty much what I was working towards.

Destri - thanks, I rather enjoy writing though and now have pleanty of time to...

All - this piece is somewhat brutal and I considered cutting or watering it down somewhat but ultimatly decided not to as I don't think it serves a purpose beyond gratuity.


42. Virtuous Evil

Around the next corner the smoke was an obscuring blanket. I didn't like the look of it, not only would it be unpleasant but we couldn't see enough down there. There was no way of knowing if the fire was in it, or if it was blocked, or full of guards. I stopped, as did those behind me with a series of grunts and complaints. I looked to Okun.

"That looks bad," he replied.

"We might be able to cut onto a service access," said Varnan behind me.

"What?"

"I know a bit about the structure of these cantons, I saw some while they tried to cure me," a shadow crossed over his expression, "the poor live near the bottom and often there is an access to the centre, like a corridor, but filthy. If we broke into a house we might get there and to the other side without detouring so far."

Go through a canton. I didn't like it. But how pressing was time? With every minute how many guards might be arriving, how much ground gained? "Okay, lead the way."

We used a bar from a broken cage to prize the grating from a low window in the side of the canton. "Give me a leg-up," I said to Okun.

"You're injured, I should go first," he replied.

"I'm still tough enough. Now give me a hand through here." He assented and I ignored the protests from my varied injuries and hauled myself through. I dropped down the other side and into a small bedchamber. It was bare save for a straw mattress with motheaten blankets and a crate, and little wonder I couldn't imagine sleeping so close to the pits. I put my head back out the window, "It's someone's bedroom," I said. "Start getting yourselves through, I'm going to scout ahead a little."

I didn't wait for a reply but instead went to the door and eased it open, the hinges were worn but didn't protest too loudly. I slipped through as soon as the crack was wide enough and found myself in a general kitchen cum living-room cum second bedroom. The door was behind a great pillar in the structure of the canton so I couldn't see much, but I could hear whispers. I peeked round the pillar and my heart sank, a family crouched fearfully by the unglazed window glancing out. The man wore some of the armour of a slave driver and held one of their cudgels nervously, his wife was trying to settle two children unsuccessfully with the help of a much older lady. I watched them for a moment then ducked behind the pillar to think. Simply put it was a disaster, they would raise the alarm if we tried to pass through, the man might even attack us. But how safely could we try to back off and use another route? The slaves were entering as I thought, it was too late for that.

I knew what needed done, but had no taste for it. Was there a correct choice? What would a good man do? In one hand I held the freedom of a large group of slaves, and Varnan, and Okun; in the other the lives of this family, the choice was there, but it was impossible. Could I really do it? Could I not. It was only a few, and for many. The argonian's depended on me, and a far worse fate awaited them should I fail. At least for the family it could be quick. I wanted to ask Varnan or Okun for advice, but knew that I needed no advice and really only wanted to spread the guilt. The sword felt sinister under my fingers, it was a tool but the brutal harvest was death and pain, now more so than ever. All they had wanted was to hide. And to be able to carry on their atrocities once they'd hidden and survived, probably he already planned for his advancement. My sympathy could only go one way, but I did regret that my sword point need go the other. I stepped out from behind the pillar, the demon at home, an angel of necessity.

The others crept into the room to find me standing amid the dead staring at a floor reddened with the same cheerless paint as soaked myself and the walls. I had done what needed doing, but there was no argument as to what it had been, I knew that full clearly. Multiple premeditated murder. For a higher cause, yes, but how much greater an end justified my methods? I looked at the argonians who looked back, their gazes red windows to the burning stew of emotions they carried. They were afraid, of the Dres, but also of myself, yet they looked to me with hope too. Hope and fear, how different were they? Not very I suspected. A similar monster viewed from different sides. I wiped my sword clean and sheathed it.

"Shall we continue?"

Varnan nodded and walked over to me, "That was a bit... brutal," he spoke quietly enough that only I could hear.

He wilted under my glare, "What should I have done? What would you have done? They would have raised the alarm, I prevented that to give all these a chance."

"Yes... but..." he paused. "You could have discussed it."

"To what end? The same one but with delay and with murder on more consciences. I'm trying to save these people," the imploring tone in my voice embarrassed me. I let him walk on ahead.

Okun drew up to me and saw my expression, "It needed doing," he said, "hold onto that. I had to kill some innocents to release a couple of cages. Bad work, but for a good end."

I nodded but my mind lusted for skooma and in its absence picked at the thought like a scab. How many had I murdered? In the eyes of the law, several. Morally? This had been my idea. The plantation had been my idea. I'd upset the equilibrium, however bad, and a great many had, and would, suffer for it. I shook the thought aside as we passed from the house and into a gloomy corridor, to one side doors clustered onto it leading to hovels like the one we passed. We went the other way toward a low square of light at the end of it. The smell was horrid, festering rubbish and effluent from a cracked pipe mingled with the stench of the pits. Only the desperate would live here.

Abruptly we came to a halt. I looked ahead and saw Varnan in the lead peering round a corner then ushering the nearest argonians back. "What is it?" I asked when I reached him.

"Take a look round that corner. Carefully." I peered round the edge of the crumbling plaster and cursed silently. It went into a low communal area, a washroom by its looks, the door was wide and there were more windows all along. The inside was full of people, all commoners hiding from the madness outside.

I squeezed my eyes shut but there wasn't enough left in me for rage,"Why now?" I asked the air, "What now?"

"We could sneak past, perhaps."

I shook my head, "Too many of us and too many eyes watching. If we go that way they're going to see us."

Okun joined us and looked round, "Ah," he said, "What do we do?"

"Go back?" Varnan suggested.

"No," I said, "If we do that family died for nothing."

"They died for hope," said Okun, "But I agree, we can't go back."

Varnan looked blank. I waved my hand in front of his face and he startled but said nothing.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Okun.

"I don't know, perhaps I can find a healer when we're out. If we ever manage it. The gods seem intent on thwarting me."

"Perhaps," Okun's tone was disapproving, "Perhaps but look how far you've come. And I might have an idea." His tone fell from desperate to pained.

"What?" I was wary.

"I still have that scroll of Monden's Instigator. If we directed it into the room... Well I dare say tensions are already running high. They might not notice us, or be too busy fighting each other to care."

It would work, and unlike Mabrel's unexpectedly monstrous experimental ones it wasn't going to cause total havoc, just enough that we might pass. "It will be tantamount to killing several of them, when the dunmer fight it never ends well."

"Yes," he said, "It will, but that sacrifice has been made once, and to use it we must make it again."

"And the next time? Are we to cut a bloody swathe through Tear?"

"If we manage the end will be remembered for a long time after the means is forgiven."

"With the argonians' perhaps, but it's not glory that interests me. Is it right to do this?" I felt a twinge of guilt at his unhappy expression. The decision was impossible, I had borne it once and I should have again.

"They made their choice being here," Okun replied at length and pulled out the, somewhat bashed, scroll and lifted it in front of him.

I grabbed his wrist, the bracer slimy under my touch and he glared at me. "I shall do it," I said, "There is no choice, but my name is already tarred. Keep your soul while you can."

Confusion and relief blended on his features as he handed it over. I lifted it before me and steeled myself to beat the final nail into my coffin.

Tough decisions. You said this was brutal, and it was.

Ordinarily I wouldn't like the character that makes these same decisions, but you have done your job well. I still like Firen, but now I'm even more sympathetic to him than I've ever been. When weighing the value of one life against another, one has to live with the decision one makes - there is no right or wrong decision here. Only shades of grey. The carnage is saddening, even tragic, but it happened.

I've read of similar moral choices in times of war, and I think you've handled Firen's character very well here.

Again, well done!

Oh, for me, it was dreams filled with organic chemistry (boat and chair forms, anyone?), so I relate!

As haute said, this was brutal. Very well done. I do not envy Firen for the choices he has to make. No matter which way he goes, he is damned. You really write this dark fiction well.


This really stood out for me:
I wanted to ask Varnan or Okun for advice, but knew that I needed no advice and really only wanted to spread the guilt.