Yaay! the chap is back! I have been wondering where you have gotten off to Verlox.

What stood out for me here was Ernand's frustration at his clumsy flight through the forest. Being a city boy, it makes perfect sense that he would be out of his depth in a forest at night. His wondering how the elves manage to move around was an especially good touch. As h.e.r. noted, it keeps him very down-to-nirn and believable as a character.

Chapter Nine: In the Money

The town of Black Park was not a true town. Sitting on the major trade route between the powerful city-states of Falinesti and Silvenar, Black Park resembled a perpetual Merchant’s Fair. Many powerful traders made this place their home, and along with the shop tents, there were numerous small manors.

Having just left the wilds of Valenwood, being amongst civilized people was comforting for the exiled Breton. It had taken him a little over an hour to reach the town, and as he passed over the guarded defensive ditch, the sun was high in the sky. With Magnus giving warmth to the clearing, many people were out and about, bartering their wares, and proclaiming the quality of their goods. Shouts of “hot meat pies” and “good ale” echoed in the air, and Ernand almost felt as if he were in the Market District of Cyrodiil.

But now is not the time for regrets and memories, he thought, Now is the time for action .

Ernand reached into his pocket and fondled the Ruby Key. He was confident that there was at least a single jeweler or collector in Black Park, and with an item so well made as the key, the Breton could have a full money pouch by noon. “Now what was it,” Ernand mused, “Arnulf always said about trading?”

Play your cards right, and you can get a man to sell his own family. Play them wrong, and you’ll be left with nothing, came one of his old tutors voice. Luckily, Ernand had no intention of buying a family; only wanted some money to get him started on wherever he was going. Noon came and went quickly as he went about Black Park's merchant booths, presenting the key. Each trader had been in awe of the thing, eager to get their hands on it. However, they each made it clear that they lacked the money for so fine an object.

Disappointed at not finding a buyer, Ernand decided to take a break from his search. Tromping through the market place, he was eventually attracted to a sweet aroma emanating from a nearby tent across the lane. Making his way to it, he ducked under the flap. The smell of roasting meat assaulted his nostrils, and Ernand eagerly sought out a free table. Picking one near the center of the tent, he weaved through the crowd of people and took a seat. Seconds passed before a waitress materialized at his table.

"What’ll it be?"

"Whatever I smell." The girl giggled, and went off to find the Breton his food. Time passed, and other customers came and went. One that caught Ernand’s eye was quite possibly the most corpulent Bosmer he had ever seen. His great girth, alongside his fine clothing, jewels, and burly Nord bodyguards marked this man as one of wealth. Reaching into his pocket once again to fiddle with the Ruby Key, Ernand got it into his mind that this rich elf may have the money to make a buy. When the waitress returned with his food, he thanked her politely. Plate in had, the councilor weaved over to the table where the fat man sat.

“Get outta here, Breton.” One of the Nords pushed him as he approached, “Lord Ethredor don’t want no company!” Being some inches shorter than the Nord, Ernand was prudent enough to not deal with him. Instead, he called out to Ethredor.

“My lord, please. You look like a man who adores his fineries, and I have something you may wish to see.” Ethredor continued to consume plates of food, as if not hearing the Breton.

The other Nord now began to pressure Ernand. “Didn’t you hear my brother? Lord Ethredor don’t talk to nobody when he’s eating.”

Reaching into his pocket, Ernand withdrew the dazzling treasure. “A man of your stature must see this, my lord. Please, look.” Ethredor’s eyes left his plates of food to see what all the fuss was about. When they locked onto the key, they widened in sheer awe.

“Boys! Boys,” came Ethredor’s squeaky voice, “Let the man by. Don’t you see he has business to discuss.” Inviting the Breton to sit down, something that displeased the Nord brothers greatly, but they let him by. “So,” Ethredor put his hand on the table and leaned in, “Where did you come by such a marvelous treasure?”

Taking his seat, Ernand responded, “An inheritance from my late mother. But I’ve come down on hard times and this is all I have to sell that could fetch me a decent sum.”

“A decent sum, indeed,” Ethredor agreed. “I’ve never seen a ruby cut into this shape before. It’s perfect!” His eyes narrowed then, “But one has to wonder if it’s real.”

“I’ve been seeking a jeweler all day to have it appraised. Unfortunately,” Ernand shrugged, “It has been difficult to find one.”

Clapping his hands together, Ethredor proclaimed, “Well it just so happens I know a man in the market that could appraise this for you. I could take you to him,” then after a pause, “After supper of course. Please, won’t you join me?”

“It would be an honor, my lord.”

The Breton and Bosmer enjoyed the meal set before them. Unlike the elves from the collective, who cared only for their own troubles, Ethredor knew about what was plaguing the Empire. He lamented the fact that the roads weren’t as safe as they used to be; bandits attacking caravans from Arenthia to Haven. He also related to Ernand the rumor that Falinesti and Silvenar’s rivalry was reaching critical proportions.

“And if fighting does break out, Black Park will be the main battleground. Let’s hope it does not come to that.” Wiping his hands on the tablecloth, Ethredor hefted himself from his seat. “Come now, my boy. Let us go and see the man about getting a price for that jewel.”



“Good Gods! This thing is a solid ruby!”

Ernand rolled his eyes. Was it so hard to believe that? Did it take a professional jeweler to deduce it? I mean, I can understand being suspicious of a foreigner, but damn. The squat little man continued to extol the virtues of the Ruby Key. Ernand had stopped truly listening minutes ago, and only turned his attention back to the jeweler when he began to talk about money.

“This thing could easily act as a real key,” Ernand laughed a little inside, “The workmanship is topnotch…No, this goes beyond that. It’s like Zenithar himself constructed this masterpiece. I know men who would kill for something like this.” Ernand’s interest was total now.

“So what’s the price tag on this thing?”

“I’d say around 6000 drakes.” The Jeweler turned to Ethredor, “If I were you, I’d buy it for about 4000. The workmanship is just that good.”

Ethredor took the key from his friend, and looked at Ernand. “Well, Breton, does 4000 Imperial Septims strike your fancy? Or do we have to go through the annoying game of haggle?”

Grinning, Ernand shook his head. “I think 4000 sounds fine. I was honestly expecting it to be worth a little less, so this is good news for me. That money ought to serve me well where I’m going.”

Reaching his hand out to take Ernand, Ethredor gave it a good shake, and asked, “Why don’t you stick around for a little while. There is a fair tomorrow, and Black Park is known for having all sorts of interesting merchandise passing through it. You might see something that strikes your fancy. Stay, as my honored guest.”

Ernand would have preferred to leave immediately, and though Ethredor’s request was completely benign, he was nervous around the stout elf’s henchman, eyeing him up and down as they were.

“Well, I might as well stay a little while; get ready for the road and catch some sleep.”

I loved the scene between Ernand and the Nord bodyguards! Especially at the end when they were eyeballing him. Makes me wonder if they are going to toss him for the gold and return it to their master. Yikes!

One nit - likely a result of some editing:Looks like an extra space snuck in between action and the following period.

Well done! I'm delighted to see this story continue!

.

Whew, you surprised me with that quick second post. Good to see Ernand forging ahead. But like Haute, I have the sneaking suspicion that a couple of Nords are going to try to murder him during the night to get that 4,000 back...

Chapter Ten: Spite Part I

Day dawned over Black Park, and all but the poor were still shut up in the homes. A storm had rolled in late the day before, and rain was still coming down. Merchants had taken their goods indoors, leaving empty booths scattered about the muddy square.

Locked up within Ethredor’s manor house, Ernand sat with the giant Bosmer as the elf droned on about the recent happenings within Tamriel. As a merchant, he could not be indifferent to news coming in from the other provinces, and he regaled his Breton guest with a tale from up north.

“And the Count of Bravil was executed for conspiracy to assassinate the Emperor,” Ethredor said after he drained another glass of Valenwood brew. “The executioner was ill, I heard, so the authorities had simply thrown Bravil into the lake to be devoured by slaughterfish. Nasty business that.”

Ernand grimaced at Ethredor’s story. While he wouldn’t put it past the count to conspire against the Imperial Crown, knowing that Tharn was impersonating the Emperor made him regret that the count was no tsuccessful. If Bravil had been, Ernand thought, he wouldn’t be sitting with a greedy little Bosmer, sharing a drink.

“Something wrong, Ernand?”

The Breton was jogged from his thoughts when Ethredor spoke.

“What? Oh, sorry. No, nothings wrong. You’re right, nasty business about Bravil. Do you think he was really planning to assassinate the Emperor?”

“Honestly?” Ethredor smirked a little between gulping down more of the brew, “No. It was a political execution. The Count of Bravil was a malcontent with a large Nibenean following. It makes sense to me that an Emperor can’t let a man like that live. I don’t understand why he didn’t do it sooner.”

I do. Emperor Uriel would have never condoned such an act, Ernand thought, he would have found another way. Chugging down his brew, Ernand grimaced at the taste. “I have ask, Ethredor, what is this? It tastes a lot like Nordic mead, but we’re too far south to find any of that.”

“Ah, this is a special Valenwood brew. Tree sap, some fruits, a touch of moon sugar, and then fermented under intense pressure and heat.”

“Isn’t moon sugar illegal?”

“Yes,” Ethredor grinned, “But who is going to stop us? If you hadn’t noticed Imperial garrisons now days are hardly anything to worry about.”

Ernand leaned forward in his seat, tilting his head to one side, “And that doesn’t strike you as odd? Not three months ago all the garrisons were at full-strength and cracking down on crime. What do you think made that change?”

Ethredor hummed and thought to himself for a minute before snapping his chubby fingers together, “That war up north, of course! Nasty business that.”

The Breton and the Bosmer passed a few more hours in discussion with each other before the rains finally let up around Noon. Instantly, Black Park seemed to spring to life as merchants and workers burst from their homes and began to set up tents and restock their booths. Ethredor had excused himself to go look in on his shop, leaving Ernand alone to pursue his own interest until the Merchant Fair started that night.

Getting up from his chair, Ernand left the den, stepping out into a hallway. Taking a right, he proceeded down until he reached Ethredor’s Foyer. There, the Breton stopped, and even took a slight step back. The large oaken door was flanked by the two Nord brothers who were Ethredor’s bodyguards. They regarded the smaller Breton with smirks on their faces. Neither of them carried their weapons, unlike Ernand who was armed, but they weren’t at all diminished by the lack.

Swallowing, Ernand stepped forward, and boldly said, “Excuse me, gentlemen. Business to attend to outside.” They didn’t move, and the older of the two brothers challenged Ernand.

“Did Lord Ethredor give you permission to leave, witchman?”

“No,” Ernand dropped his hand to rest on the pommel of his sword, “Unlike you and your oaf of a brother, I am not a servant of his. I may come and go as I please!” Ernand’s brash statement enflamed both Nords and they stopped lounging by the door and stepped towards him.

“You better apologize for that, Breton. If you do, maybe we won’t break all your bones!”

“Sure that’s a good idea?” Ernand asked contemptuously, “I don’t think Ethredor would be very pleased to find his honored guest mangled. He might even turn you two over to the authorities, and I’m sure the Bosmer would love to get their hands on a couple of Nords.”

The threat of an ancient hatred seemed to get through to the Nord brothers, and they slowly backed down from confrontation. As Ernand scornfully brushed by them and out the door, he heard one of the brothers call out, “You watch your back, Breton! Tonight I’ll have your head!”

Ernand frowned.



Tromping down the muddy lane the cut through Black Park, Ernand made his way from the manors of the rich merchants and into the settlement’s square. All around him was hustle-and-bustle as the merchants and workers labored to get ready in time for that night’s fair. The mud gushed under him as he continued on until he reached the town’s stables.

Ernand brushed the mud from his boots before stepping into the dimly lit building. The smell of horses was quite strong, and Ernand wrinkled his nose at it. The front of the stables shop was rather sparse; more of a sitting room than anything else, but the Breton knew that business would be conducted in the stable-proper. What he did notice was a long bell-rope dangling from above. Moving over to it, he pulled three times, the bell above clanging in tandem with his pulls, and then he waited.

Only a few minutes passed by before a wild-eyed Bosmer came bursting from a backdoor. “Well, hey-hi-howdy, sir! Sorry that took so long, was just getting finished shooing a big ol’ hoss. What can I help you with?”

“Ah, yes. I need a horse. Nothing special.”

The little Bosmer regarded the Breton with astonishment. “Sir,” he began, “You are the first person in this entire town to ask for something simple. Rich merchants are always here buying expensive, well-bred horses, so I stock quite a few of those. But since that’s not what you want, you and I may have to go do some looking. Follow me.” The Bosmer led Ernand out the backdoor and into the stables, where the smell of horse was most powerful.

Ernand spent the next hour with the Bosmer looking over numerous steeds. The Breton learned his name was Malgoth, but everyone just called him Moth because he could flit from one subject to another quickly. “Most people don’t care to look at the horse before they buy it. They trust me enough to do all the checking for them. Why do you think they’re like that?”

“Well,” Ernand brushed the back of his neck, removing some hay left over from having to dive into a hay pile to avoid a horse-kick, “They’re merchants. Fat merchants. They don’t want to leave the comfort of their homes to buy a horse.”

Moth laughed with Ernand. “I see you’ve met Lord Ethredor. I didn’t know we Bosmer were able to get that large.”

“I’m actually staying with that man until tomorrow. I’ve seen what he eats, and it doesn’t surprise he’s as fat as he is.” Ernand stepped in to another stall after Moth, this one containing a massive draught horse. “Now this is what Ethredor probably needs to get around, but it may also suit my purpose.”

“You going to be doing some hauling?” Moth asked.

“No, it’s for riding. But I need something that has endurance and strength.”

“Well, this creature may be just what you need.” Moth began by measuring the animal, the creature topping out at eighteen hands high at the withers. The speckled gray coat was healthy, and the well-muscled limbs showed off the steed’s great power. “So shall I start estimating a price, sir?”

Ernand stroked his chin, looking the animal up and down. After a few moments, he muttered, “Yeah. This is what I’m looking for. How much?”

“Well, demand for something like this is pretty low around here. And…Well, you seem like a pretty good person; a better person than a lot of the other Bosmer around here. And you seem to know your horses!” Moth grinned shyly as Ernand smirked. “So I think I can let it go for about nine-hundred, with an additional hundred for a day of stabling and feed. So a thousand total. Quite a deal if I do say so myself.”

“It’s acceptable.” Ernand reached down and took five pouches from his belt. “Each sack contains two-hundred septims.” Moth took the hefty pouches, holding them under his arms. He noticed that the Breton seemed to stand a little taller with that money gone. “So do you think business if going to be good for you during the fair?”

“Oh yes! All those merchants will needs new horses and wagons to transfer all their goods. There’s no better time for me, actually.” Ernand and Moth left the stables and back into the main room. The Bosmer noticed two his stable hands lounging in a couple of chairs, and he ordered, “Why don’t you two go take the horse to stall thirteen to the overnight stables. I want it fed and brushed down by tonight.”

After the stable hands left, Moth flopped down in a chair near the door. He motioned for Ernand to do the same, then asked, “So what brings a Breton down into Valenwood?”

Ernand shifted in his seat, “You know, just passing through.” His thoughts then jumped back to the trouble between Bragor’s Collective and Longvale. “I was employed down in Longvale. Things were getting nasty so I left.”

“I guess that would explain the elven armor,” Moth pointed out, “You don’t see that kind of stuff on many Bretons.”

“Indeed,” Ernand said slowly, “Altmer want their mercenaries to be well armed.”

Ernand and Moth passed a few more hours in conversation until a bell resounded loudly some distance away. Moth flicked his head up, and a grin crossed his face. “And that would be the bell calling us all to mass, I suppose?” Ernand joked.

“Nah; Merchant Fair. A lot like mass in Black Park, though.” Standing from their seats, Moth bade farewell to Ernand. Leaving the smelly stables, Ernand noticed that people were all over the place, drinks in the hands, and other haggling for wares. While they did not know it, the people of Black Park had sprung to life to pay homage to Zenithar.

Ernand’s mood swelled as he regarded the scene before him, and he soon was swept up into a passing crowd, propelling him to Black Park’s square where the main festivities were going on. There, numerous merchants were hawking their wares, straining their voices over the din of the crowd. While he was interested in their goods, Ernand forbore to take part in the economic side of the fair. Instead, he gravitated over towards the eastern quarter of the square where a small arena had been set up.

The Breton remember going to the Imperial Arena in Cyrodiil. The grandeur, and the pomp and ceremony, had always been his main draw. Safe within his balcony seat, the former councilor was well away from the blood, dirt, and sweat of the combatants. This was not so in Black Park. Here he had a front-row seat to the real violence of an arena. The grunts and howls of the fighters, coupled with a close-up view of savage beatings, actually made Ernand’s stomach turn. He was about to leave the scene when he felt a large hand clamp down on his shoulder. Turning his head, he winced when he saw Ethredor’s Nord guards.

“Good, you’re here. I was afraid we were gonna have to kill you in a alley or something,” the elder brother, a giant with a shaggy black mane and piercing blue eyes. Ernand tried to pull away, but the Nord’s greater strength held the Breton in place. “As soon as this fight’s done, me and you are gonna step into the ring.”

“You and I,” Ernand said dryly to cover up the hint of fear, “It’s not ‘me and you’, it’s ‘you and I’.” Seeing the Nord’s confusion, Ernand couldn’t help but dig further. “I suppose it makes sense that a savage like yourself—“ He was cut off when the Nord swung him around, pulled back his fist, and slammed it right into the Breton’s midsection, sending Ernand to his knees.

The crowd around the crude arena silenced, even the combatants stopped their fight when they saw another one brewing. The only sound that could be heard was the distant ruckus from the merchants, the wheezing sound of the Breton breathing.

“Teach you to make fun of me,” the Nord gloated as his brother guffawed, “And that’s just a taste of what’s coming.” Brushing past the toppled Breton, the Nord brothers began to threaten the Bosmer fighters in the arena to finish up quickly.

Meanwhile, Ernand was taking in shallow bits of air to get his breath back. The Nord’s punch had not only sent him to the ground, but knocked the wind out of him. He could hear the Nords making threats, and being a general nuisance. Unsteadily, Ernand got to his feet and turned to face the barbarians, whose back were turned to him as they harangued the Bosmeri fighters in the ring. The brothers were given a great deal of space by the other fair-goers, and a great space surrounded them. In that moment, Ernand knew what he had to do.

Raising his mailed hand, he outstretched his pointer finger. Focusing his magicka, he began to mutter to himself. Bosmeri eyes were on him now; their sight centered on the small, glowing orb that was shimmering at the tip of his finger. Slowly, it grew brighter and brighter until it was hard to look at directly. Finally, Ernand said, not loudly but forcefully, “Palava Rausku!” The orb seemed to convulse, becoming flat and elongated. The Breton’s magicka then sent the burning bolt soaring towards the Nords.

The Bosmeri mass cheered when the Breton’s spell connected with the elder Nord’s rear-end. The savage yelped, swatting at his butt in an attempt to put out the fire that was growing. His brother, panicking, did nothing. The fire was quenched before it could become any larger, but the spell had served the purpose of igniting another flame. One of anger. Twisting to face the Breton, who was grinning unrepentantly, the Nord’s fury spewed forth in a burst of profanity colorful enough to widen Ernand’s eyes.

“You sorry sack of guar dung!” the Nord howled, “I’ll get you for that. Sven!” He looked at his brother, “Clear those misbegotten elves from the arena. I’m tired of waiting to crush this witchman’s skull.” Sven complied with his brother’s command, wading into the arena to separate the Bosmeri fighters. The elder Nord them vaulted over the fence, calling out to Ernand, “We’re settling this now. You and me, Breton!”

With his wind back, Ernand drew his curved elven blade. The crowd was hushed as the councilor moved through them and into the arena. Sven had disappeared for a few moments, quickly materializing at his brother’s side with a hefty hammer.

Ernand knew he could expect no mercy from the enraged Nord. If he lost, he would die. Spreading his legs, Ernand lowered himself closer to the ground and raised his sword overhead, the blade shimmering in the sun that had burst through the clouds. His armor seemed gilded in light as Magnus’s rays shone upon it, and the Bosmer crowd was hard-pressed to look directly at the Breton.

The battle in the forest against the goblins was different than this, Ernand thought; it had been a surprise attack. But it was also carried out by significantly weaker opponents. This was different. The Nord was in peak physical condition, and he hefted his heavy weapon as if it was a small building hammer. In a toe-to-toe fight, Ernand knew there was no way he could win; if the Nord got a hold of him, his life was over. Magick, the Breton knew, would be the key to this battle.

Lets just hope Ria’s lessons are enough.

Talk about a cliffhanger! Yeow!

How long will that big grey horse have to wait for Ernand now?

More. Please.

Good bit of keeping us up to date on what Jagar Tharn is doing through Ernand's conversation with Ethredor. It all flows out very naturally, without feeling like an info-dump.

When Ethredor mentioned the special Valenwood brew, I was half-expecting it to have elven/human blood in it!

More fun with the Nords I see! As I expected. I thought you wrote the confrontation in the arena stands well, Enand's nettling them over their grammar, the punch in the gut and its effects, and especially the Flare to the butt! All very well done. Now a cliffhanger!


nits:

that the count was no tsuccessful
Looks like your "t" was conspiring to secede from the rest of "not".


Taking a right, he proceeded down until he reached Ethredor’s Foyer
foyer ought to be in small caps here.


All those merchants will needs new horses and wagons to transfer all their goods.
I am thinking you wanted need here? (but since it is dialogue, I am not sure).


The Breton remember going to the Imperial Arena in Cyrodiil.
That should be remembered there.


whose back were turned to him as they harangued the Bosmeri fighters in the ring.
that is backs.


The brothers were given a great deal of space by the other fair-goers, and a great space surrounded them.
You have the word space twice in the same sentence here, and the entire second half of the sentence seems unnecessary. I think you can just delete everything after the comma.

Now there is some Arena action done by a pro!!!!! Great Write!

Chapter Eleven: Spite Part II and Fang Lair Revealed

Terror. That feeling of overwhelming fear that strikes at the worst of times. When one’s flight or fight system chooses flight, but is unable to run. Chills go down the spine, and focus is impossible. The feeling when a hammer wielding savage, intent on crushing your skull, is charging at you with a blood-curdling yell.

Ernand had known fear before. The revelation that Jagar Tharn had killed Ria and was impersonating the Emperor, and he the only current one able to do anything about it, hadn’t exactly filled him with positive thoughts. But that was a far-off goal, one that could be accepted during the passage of time. An angry Nord wanting to kill him, though, made the Breton’s legs quiver.

Helm, as Sven had called his older brother, had no finesse. But what he lacked their, he made up in sheer ferocity. Due to the weight of the hammer, and Helm’s lack of skill, Ernand didn’t find it incredibly difficult to dodge a swing aimed at his head. Ducking to avoid the blow, the Breton struck with the hilt of his sword at the Nord’s left knee. Howling in pain, Helm wavered for a moment. Time bought, Ernand danced away to the opposite end of the small arena.

Distance achieved, Ernand extended his finger, muttering, “Palava Puhkaista,” and a dart of faint flame shot from it, striking Helm at the small of his back. Ernand winced when he noticed the spell only served to enrage the Nord further.

Excellent, Ernand thought, I’ve turned a angry Nord into a maddened killing machine. No sooner as the thought entered his mind that Helm was on him again. Unable to get away, the Breton was forced to accept the blow. Luckily, in his enraged state, Helm was targeting the Breton’s torso. The Nord’s hammer crashing against the elven mithril made all sorts of noises, but the crunching of bones was not among them.

Recovering from the beating, Ernand flicked his sword out, slashing along the Nord’s unprotected torso. Reeling back, Helm clutched at his chest, blood welling up in his fingers. Not willing to endure the fight anymore, Ernand raised his sword again.

The sun flashed on the blade as it went down, blinding those following it. The next thing the spectators heard was an animalistic roar, and the clunk of a heavy object falling onto the ground. The crowd of Bosmeri fair-goers had fallen silent as they gazed at the sight before them. Helm had collapsed to his knees; his bloody hand that was once at his chest was now clutching the bleeding stump where his right hand had once been. The Breton victor was slouched, the tip of his sword resting on the ground. His breaths were coming in heavy gasps, and he seemed on the verge of falling down. His once glistening armor was dull, covered in the blood of his defeated foe, and the dust kicked up during combat.

Sven, seeing his defeated brother, roared and bounded over the arena fence. The crowd screamed when it seemed that the other Nord was going to tackle the Breton. In the short time Ernand had to respond, he managed to raise his blade. But he never got the chance to do anything.

“Kantamus!” The cry came from behind the crowd. A bolt of blue energy flew towards Sven, striking him fully. He screamed as he crashed to the ground, sending dust into the air. “Alright, everyone shows over. Go somewhere else.” The edge of authority was within the voice of this newcomer, and the people grudgingly left the scene of the brawl, muttering in discontent. When the crowd had dispersed, the three fighters all stared in shock at the remaining man, the fat merchant Ethredor.

“So, Ernand, I leave you alone for a few hours and this is how you amuse yourself. Maiming one of my employees.”

“Ethredor? How did you—what is going on?”

The merchant laughed shrilly, his chin-fat jiggling as he did. “Did you think I wouldn’t hear about this?” Ethredor saw Ernand’s face drop, “Black Park isn’t very big, and there is little that happens here that I don’t know about. Actually,” the merchant raised his plump fingers to his chubby chin, “It was Malgoth, the Stable Master, who alerted me to this ruckus. Are you hurt bad?”

Ernand shook his head. “I don’t think so. I might be severely bruised, but I think I’ll live.”

“Good!” Ethredor nodded. “Why don’t you head back to the manor; get yourself cleaned up. I’ll deal with these two ruffians.” Ernand nodded in agreement and silently left the scene. He hadn’t bothered to sheathe his sword, and it dragged on the ground as the Breton stumbled up the lane back towards the manor quarter.

Ethredor’s eyes followed the receding form the Ernand until the Breton at last disappeared as he rounded a corner. Nodding, he casted his eyes about, assuring himself no one was about. When this was done he turned blazing eyes back towards Helm and Sven. “Idiots,” he growled, “What were you fools doing challenging that Breton? I thought I made it clear to you both that you weren’t to pick fights anymore!”

Sven, still be crushed into the ground by Ethredor’s burden spell, squeaked, “He insulted us! Called us fools!”

“You are fools!” Ethredor put his fingers to his temples and rubbed slightly. “Do you two even understand the possible consequences of what you’ve done? This could very well lead to an investigation!”

“But,” Helm gasped in pain as he tried to speak, “Didn’t the Master say—say that we would not be looked into?”

“There’s always one amongst the guards who is an idealist,” the Bosmer scoffed, “And though guards love gold, they love fame even more.” Ethredor’s eyes then locked onto Helm’s severed hand. “For Dagon’s sake, pick it up and go see if a healer can reattach it.”

“Of course, Lord Asuul—,” Helm’s words were cut off when he too was crushed into the ground when Ethredor cast a burden spell on him.

“Idiot oaf! King of Fools! I ordered you to never address me by that name in public!” A white orb began to form in Ethredor’s hand, and soon a swirling ball of electrical energy was trembling there. “You will never call me that again, whelp!” The orb flew from Ethredor’s hand and struck Helm’s prone body. Screams of intense pain erupted from the Nord’s mouth, and then were suddenly silenced. When the electricity stopped bouncing over his body, smoke began to rise from Helm.

“You—you killed him….” Sven turned his head from his brother to Ethredor with much difficulty, and he gazed at the fat Bosmer in total alarm, “You slew my brother. Why?”

“I do not suffer fools gladly. Nay, I do suffer them at all!” Ethredor waddled over to the smoking corpse of Helm and kicked it a few times with a stubby foot. He then glared at Sven, “Be sure you—,”

“What’s going on?”

Ethredor’s sight snapped to the location of the new voice. Up the lane which Ernand had taken stood the small form of Bosmer Stable Master, Malgoth. “Master Ethredor?”

“Ah, Mr. Malgoth…Uh, ahem…Well this is an odd situation isn’t it?” Ethredor smiled at the Bosmer, whose eyes were now locked on the smoking corpse of Helm. “Oh, no need to stare at this,” Ethredor said as he stepped between Moth and the body, “The man wouldn’t see reason, you see. I had to put him down.”

“You murdered my brother!” Sven sobbed into the dirt, “Murderer!”

“I’m—I’m going to go get the watch.” Moth took a few steps away from the now frowning merchant, then turned on his heel and attempted to flee. He only got a few feet before he heard “panna vankilaan,” and he felt something hit his back. Instantly, his body lost function, and his paralyzed body keeled over backwards, his eyes staring up into the sky.

“You know, you could have avoided this.” Moth could hear the merchant’s heavy footfall next to his ear. “You could have just accepted my story, and cared no more for the matter. So a Nord died. Personally, I think that would have pleased an elf like you.” Slowly, Moth’s body rose back to standing, completely still as if he was a statue. “But you wouldn’t accept that.”

“Yo—you—you aren’t Ethredor,” Moth managed to croak.

“Well, there was never an Ethredor to begin with.” Gradually, Moth could see the fat merchant’s visage chance. He started to grow taller and the fat disappeared from his body. The jolly Bosmer face was replaced with one almost skeletal in appearance, and the merchant’s fine clothes were replaced with extravagant green robes. The face grinned at Moth, revealing sharp pointed teeth. “There is no Ethredor,” it growled, “There is only Pergan Asuul!”

No scream ever escaped Malgoth’s mouth.



“Ahhh; oh yeah. This feels good.” Submerged in the steaming water, Ernand moaned in contentment. The soothing water eased the pains of his body, just recently battered by a Nord’s hammer.

The bathroom was quenched of all but a few candles. It was dark and serene, and Ernand would have had it no other way. Moments of peace had been rare for the Breton the last weeks, and he seized the chance to forget his troubles. Forget Tharn. Forget the Emperor. Forget Ria—Ernand snapped his head up, his brow creasing and a disturbed look on his face.

No, I must not forget, he thought, Ria is dead. Emperor Uriel, imprisoned. And that apostate, Tharn, sits on the throne. I must not forget.

These revelations sapped much of the enjoyment Ernand was getting out of his bath. The water was still warm and comforting, but his thoughts were clouded with foreboding. Cursing silently to himself, Ernand reached under the water, his hand scraping along the well-sanded floor of the tub for the drain plug. The bath had gone on long enough, and Ernand saw no more point in continuing.

Popping the plug, the Breton stood from the rapidly draining tub. Stepping out, he searched for a towel. The bathroom wasn’t very big, and he had little trouble spotting the leaf-green cloth, even in the scant light. Patting himself dry, he wrapped the towel around his naked waist then moved over to the door.

Opening it slightly, Ernand peeked his head out. The bathroom door opened out into a long hallway. Unlike the bathroom, the hallway boasted large windows at both ends, filling it with light. He could hear the bustle of Ethredor’s servants, but there were none about the hall. Stepping lightly, Ernand left the bathroom and proceeded to the chamber that had been put aside for him.

He was almost there when the towel around his waist slipped. “Damnation,” he swore as he scooped down to pick the object up. As he latched onto the towel, he heard the shutting of a door then a loud intake of breath. Craning his neck from his bent over position, he spotted one of Ethredor’s servants, a pretty Bosmer girl. “Oh jeez…Um, hi there,” the servant just stared at the naked Ernand, “I’m just—uh—just heading back to my chamber. Um, y’know, just going—going…um---excuse me!” Hastily wrapping the towel around his waist again, the Breton fled from the paralyzed Bosmer.

Flinging the door to his chamber open, Ernand stomped in, fuming. “Idiot,” he growled to himself, “How hard can it be to secure a damned towel!” Ernand sighed as he sat down on the feather bed. Turning his head to look at the inviting pillow, he realized how tired he really was. “Yeah…Sleep is probably what I need right now. A short nap ought to do me some good.” Stripping off the towel and throwing it to the floor, he crawled under the sheets of the bed. Resting his head on the pillow, he shut his eyes and was soon asleep.



A swirling mist surrounded the Breton, making it difficult to make out his surroundings. To Ernand, it felt as if he were floating. As he swam through the fog, he was soon stopped by an unseen force. The mist began to thicken, and began to form itself into a shape. Afraid, Ernand sought to swim away, but turning to flee only accomplished him running into another invisible wall.

Do not be afraid, Lochlainn. It is I, your friend, Ria. I see you have managed to get into trouble since your escape from Tharn’s grasp. I congratulate you on that. But now is not the time for praise. From out of the mist, Ria stepped forth. She looked no different than the time he appeared to him in prison and Ernand stopped trying to flee. Raising her hand, she began to swirl the vapor around her until it coalesced into the form of a great fortress high among the clouds.

This is the Fang Lair, once the home of the Rourken dwarves. Here, Tharn has hidden a piece of the Staff of Chaos. I do not know the ruin’s exact location, I only know that it sits high above a great desert. I am sorry I can’t tell you more.

Ernand awoke with a great gasp. Cold sweat was dripping off him, and his breathing was light and fast. The chamber lay under a blanket of shadows, and the Breton deduced his short nap had gone on much longer than he had anticipated.

“Fang Lair,” he whispered. The words brought back his dream of Ria to crystal clarity, her words being burnt into his mind. “It seems I must make for Hammerfell.” Ernand sighed and flopped back onto his pillow. “Why couldn’t Ria find a staff piece a little closer?”

This is as real as it gets, from the battles to the feelings of irritation or exhaustion. Your descriptions and attention to detail are amazing! I love the Arena storyline anyway, and love what you are doing with it! I saw an extra comma in the first paragraph, but who cares? This ROCKS!!!!

Chapter Twelve: Going to Port

Ernand had fallen back into slumber not long after Ria had visited him. This time he dreamed of nothing important, and whatever happened was soon forgotten in the morning. But Ria’s words still remained. To Fang Lair he must go.

But how do I even get there, Ernand thought as he pulled his tunic over his head, Hammerfell is hundreds of miles away. I suppose that a Mages Guild Guide could get me some of the distance, he struggled to pull on his pants, and when he did, fumbled with the straps to tighten them. Maybe Ethredor can help. He’ll probably know something. Having finished getting dressed, Ernand moved over to the armor rack that had been put out for him. He had asked a servant the night before for it to be cleaned, and he was not disappointed. The mithril shined even in the chamber’s dim light, and it bore no scars from the brawl the day before. Lifting the vest from the rack, he slipped it over his head, still marveling that it was that easy to don, and he had little trouble snapping the vambraces over his forearms.

All that was left was to buckle his sword to his waist. Here, Ernand hit a problem; he could not find the elven blade. Bemused, the Breton scoured the room, looking into every nook and cranny he could find. First he looked behind the armor stand and saw nothing. Second, he looked around the bed and under it; once again he found nothing. Muttering to himself angrily, he stalked out of the chamber, slamming the door behind him. Stomping down to the ground level of the manor, Ernand could heard the loud noise of Ethredor consuming his morning meal. Maybe he knows where it is, Ernand thought as he entered the dining room to the sight of the merchant draining a bowl of porridge. When the elf noticed his guess standing there, he sat the bowl down and gave Ernand a grin.

“Well, good morning, Ernand. Did you sleep well?”

“Indeed, I did,” Ernand answered coolly, “Have you seen my sword? I can’t find it in my chamber.” Ethredor put his hand to his chin and stroked it a bit before snapping his fingers.

“That’s right! I sent it to the smith. The blade looked a little dinged, and I thought you’d do it anyway. Save you the trouble.”

“Oh! Well, thank you, Ethredor.” Relieved that his weapon was in good hands, Ernand took the elf’s invitation to breakfast. When the Breton commented that breakfast seemed over, pointed at the three bowels piled up next to Ethredor’s arm, the elf only grinned, saying that was only an appetizer.

When the real meal was brought in, Ethredor jumped right into it, devouring the glazed ham set before him. Ernand was more paced, though, and started on a bit of bread smeared with cheese. “So what did you do to those Nords of yours?” he asked after he swallowed the bread, “Did you send them packing?”

“You could say that. I sent them to my manor in Dragonstar. I’m going to be heading up that way soon to deal with Skyrim. That war of theirs is becoming quite….profitable.”

“Profitable it may be for you,” Ernand drawled, “But it’s draining the Imperial Treasury dry trying to contain it. If the war of Bend’r-Mahk goes on much longer, it will bankrupt the Empire!”

Ethredor perked an eyebrow up, “You think so? I’m not sure I agree with you. Emperor Uriel,” a light grin crossed Ethredor’s face and then was gone, “He seems smart enough to make provisions for tough times.”

“Mayhap he has,” Ernand agreed grudgingly, “But the war needs to end! The Legions need to be withdrawn from the stable provinces and Black Marsh since it can hardly be considered a province, and deployed along the border to provide a buffer. No army in the world can stand against the Imperial Legion!”

Ethredor regarded Ernand with a skeptical look, but forbore to make a further fuss over it. “Look at it this way, my friend, the war isn’t affecting you much, safe here in Valenwood as you are. So unless the khajiit try to steal more land along the Xylo River again, it’s not likely you’ll be seeing the effects of war.”

“Well,” Ernand raised his hand to scratch the back of his head and looked away from his host, “I must make for Hammerfell as quickly as possible.” That Ethredor was taken aback would be an understatement by Ernand’s standards, and he coughed on his ham for a full minute before finally clearing his throat.

“I thought you just said you wanted the war to end?” Seeing Ernand confused look, the elf elaborated, “There are only two reasons an armed man steps into Hammerfell these days. Pirating, or as a mercenary. You don’t have the look of a pirate, so it stands to reason you seek employment as a fighter.”

“What?” Ernand questioned indignantly, “Of course I’m not going there as a mercenary!”

“Then why?”

Ernand choked on his own words. He couldn’t very well tell the elf he was going to plunder the Fang Lair, not without a great deal of suspicion. And while he had no reason to think Ethredor would betray him, the thought that his tale could eventually reach Jagar Tharn in Cyrodiil, and that he might find a knife in his back later on, held his tongue. So, Ernand lied.

“Will you swear that what I’m about to tell you won’t leave this room?” Ethredor leaned in, nodding vigorously, an excited smile on his lips. “Well, remember how I told you I was coming up from Longvale? Well, I’m still in their employ. The Altmer sorcerers down there require a certain book held in Sentinel’s library. They’ve sent me to get it.”

“Oh,” Ethredor clapped his hands together in excitement, “I do so adore espionage. What is the book for?”

“No idea. They did not tell me.”

“Figures,” Ethredor scoffed, “Altmer never tell anyone anything. Well, you’ve satisfied my curiosity. So how do you plan on getting there?”

“I don’t know,” Ernand shrugged, “Boat I guess.” Ethredor seemed to go into deep thought for a moment, and this time it was Ernand’s turn to quirk an eyebrow. “What are you thinking?”

“You know,” the elf mused, “You could take a ship to Stros M’Kai. The Mages Guild there could then teleport you to Rihad. It would cost a bit more; Guild Guiding isn’t cheap, especially for a non-member, but it would save you a few days of sea travel.”

“A good plan,” Ernand agreed, “But what port should I take?”

“Emperor’s Run. It’s the only decent port on the western coats. Filled with Altmer, though. Outside of Elden Root, it’s their main hub. And I would avoid the road by Falinesti, and take the trail straight to Emperor’s Run.”

“I thank you, Ethredor. You’ve been most kind to me, acts I will not soon forget.”

Etherdor waved off Ernand’s thanks. “You’ve more than repaid me by selling me that jewel of yours. Our trade was a fair deal, but I intend to swindle some Nibeneans fop for all the septims he’s got!” The two shared a hearty laughed before Ethredor once again spoke. “I suspect you’ll be wanting to get going as soon as possible. Master Ausk has your blade.”

Ernand nodded. Wiping his mouth and hands on his napkin, he stood from his seat. Extending his hand, which Ethredor took, the two shared a handshake. Silently, Ernand slipped out of the dining room and then out of the manor. With one last look to make sure the Breton was gone, Ethredor sighed.

Are you alone?

Ethredor sighed, “Yes, Master. My guest is gone.”

You have been in Valenwood for too long, Asuul. You know where I need you. Skelos Undriel must not be allowed to live!

“Is he truly such a threat to you, Master?”

Perhaps not, but I do not want to take the risk. You must for the Reach immediately. Find Lakvan, he’ll know where to go from there.

“I hear and I obey, Master.”



After a quick stop by the smithy to pick up his sword, Ernand made his way over to to Malgoth’s stables. Knocking on the door, Ernand called out, “Moth, open up! I need my horse!” Getting no response, he slammed on the door with his fist a few more times. “C’mon! I need to get going!” After a few moments, the door slowly creaked open revealing a young Bosmer, his eyes wide with suppressed fear.

“Can—can I help you, sir?”

“Aren’t you one of the stable hands?” the youth nodded. “Where’s Moth?”

“I don’t know. He never returned last night.”

Ernand frowned. Moth’s entire life seemed to center around his stable, and it seemed strange to the Breton that he would leave it for even the shortest of times, let alone an entire night. A memory of the night before surfaced then, the Breton remembering that he had seen the Bosmer, red-faced and embarrassed, flirting with a young lady at a cook’s booth.

Grinning at the young Bosmer, Ernand comforted him by saying, “I would fear for your master. He’s probably just taking his,” the grin got wider, “Ease somewhere.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Now,” Ernand pushed the door in a little, encountering little resistance from the stable hand, “Could you saddle my horse? I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

The little elf had brightened enormously now that he was assured his master was safe and well. Leading his client to the stables, he had the Breton pick out his steed, and then went about the meticulous act of saddling the mount. That achieved, he led the horse out for Ernand inspection.

Pleased at the stable hands work, he reached into the coin-purse at his side, drawing from it a shiny coin. “A septim for your trouble,” he said as he flipped the coin to ecstatic Bosmer. Mounting the horse easily, Ernand guided it out of the stable and into the open air. Breathing deeply, he spurred it into a quick trot up the lane to the west. Following Ethredor’s advice, he swerved before getting on the road to Falinesti, getting on to a rough path that led straight through the woods to the port of Emperor’s Run and the Fang Lair.

Not a lot going on here, but your detail is so excellent that I feel like I have seen the movie!!!! You have a knack for describing details that someone would notice if they were standing there - it brings even a quiet chapter to life in a way I envy !!!

All caught up again. Very exciting battle in the arena. But what is really interesting here is the fat merchant Ethredor, whom we see is really not fat, not a merchant, and not Ethredor! Who is he really, and who is this Master of his? Tharn perhaps? very interesting plot twist. I suspect we will be seeing more of him.

Chapter Thirteen: A Night In Rihad

Ravena glared down the dark alleyway leading out from the street. The rank smell of animal carcasses and droppings, mixed with the scent of human refuse, created an invisible miasma that clang to the cramped alley like sweaty clothes to wet skin. A number of overturned whicker-baskets littered the way, along with crates and boxed stuffed with unsavory contents. Along the walls of the buildings that made the lane’s boundaries were set up stalls for the poorer merchants that couldn’t afford space in Rihad’s bazaar. These dingy booths were covered in trash, livestock remains; all set on top of grime-splattered tarps.

Wiggling her nose in disgust, the Ra’Gada woman moved to pass through the alley. The soles of her steel-shod boots made a ruckus as she went, crunching the trash beneath her. Due to the cramped construction of the alley, the saber dangling from her belt clinked against the stalls as she passed, making a dull thump every time it did. Since the streets were deserted, and all people of right morals abed at that hour, the dull thump of her sword seemed to be like a thousand vases crashing to ground in unison to her ears. Taking pity on herself, she drew the light blade from its scabbard, brandishing it before her like a torch to ward off what might lurk in the shadows.

Coming out of the alley, Ravena felt her senses relieved as fresh air, tinged with the smell of the sea, washed over her. After the near-total darkness of the alley, her eyes were also comforted by the reappearance of Masser and Secunda. The new street she had come out into was better lit than the other one she had been sneaking through before, and was even populated, but by those who one would want to meet after dark. A few yards from her position, standing under the lamp of the Crooked Crane stood three rough-bitten men who had the looks of sailors. In one hand, they each held a large bottle of local booze, and used the other to smoke rolled up tobacco-sticks. Now, seeing an armed woman clad in warriors dress, stepping from an alley with her weapon drawn, the thugs went wide-eyed with barely suppressed fear.

Ignoring her observers, Ravena sheathed the glittering blade, and confidently strode towards the door of the tavern. Light, and the noise of loud singing, were spilling from the front windows; a welcoming sight in these dark times. As she neared the door, Ravena noticed the three ruffians step back a few steps, giving her some space. Putting her hand onto the latch, she casually swiveled her face to look at the three thugs. Leaning towards them a bit, she whispered, “Boo!” and felt gratified when the thugs yelped, dropped their drinks, and fled down up the road. Laughing, Ravena wrenched open the door to the tavern and stepped in.

The sight to meet her was a very normal one for Hammerfell’s port cities, and one to gladden her eyes. Dark-skinned, brawny sailors on leave were all over the common room. The sounds of drunken sailors singing sea shanties rose up to the roof, the words so heavily slurred as to be unrecognizable. Near the hearth, a group of men and women were shooting dice for the game of Hazard, and the groans of disappointment or shouts of joy lilted over from that direction occasionally. From behind his bar, the tavernkeep, a short, wane little man with a large, bald head, chatted amiably with his inebriated patrons.

After standing in the doorway, ignored, for a few moments to take in the scene, Ravena moved through the crowd until she reached the bar. There, she pounded on the bar-top to get the tavernkeep’s attention. Turning to the sound of the slamming, the tavernkeep’s eyes lit up with joy.

“Ravena? Well,” the tavernkeep slapped his thigh and stepped towards the woman, “by Dibella’s bosoms it’s good to see ya, girl!”

“It’s good to see you, too, Jons.”

“I heard ya was back in town, and was wondering when ya’d come to see this old man. But I get the feelin’ this ain’t no social call.”

“You would be right,” Ravena responded gravely, “I’m looking for someone.”

“Yer always lookin’ for someone, ya bounty hunter! And you thought that ol’ Jons could help ya out, eh?”

“The thought did cross my mind. The Crooked Crane is the most popular tavern in the city and—,”

Jons interrupted her. “Indeed! Indeed it is, girlie. Took me twenty years to do it, too. Paid me taxes, took the thugs off the street, knew the right,” he winked at Ravena and gave her a sly grin, “And the wrong, people. Now I have the briskest business this side of Hew’s Bane. If there’s someone ya be lookin’ for, good chances I’ve met him!”

“She, actually.” Dangling from her belt there was a case resembling a small bolt-carrier. Popping open the lid, Ravena pulled out a thick roll of papers. Unrolling them, she leafed through them until she stopped, pulling one paper from the roll. After shoving the others back into the case, she slapped the poster down onto the bar. Reaching for it, Jons turned it around to get a good look. On it was printed an artist’s representation of a pretty Dunmer woman.



Despite his dusky skin, Ravena noticed how, when Jons read the name of her target, his face blanched. His hand tightened on the poster, his fingers digging into the thin parchment, and Ravena thought that the tavernkeep meant to crumple the paper up until it was unrecognizable.

“Jons?”

Hearing his name, the tavernkeep snapped out of his trance, and loosened his hold on the poster. “I’ve ne-never seen her before in me life,” Jons stammered, “Do-don’t see many dark elves in Rihad these days. This far west, most of them folk are in Wayrest.” He seemed to brighten noticeably then, and regained his composure. Snapping his fingers, he leaned on his elbow into the bar. “Yeah, them dark elves are probably clustered around their queen. Ya should probably head there.”

As Jons thought to turn away, Ravena lashed out and latched onto his arm. Turning to face her again, he noticed the look of suppressed fury in her eyes.

“There’s something you’re not telling me, Jons.”

“I-I don’t know what ya talkin’ about,” Jons squeaked.

Leaning further in, Ravena growled, “I’m going to come back in the morning. By then, you better know what I’m talking about.”

Releasing her grip, Jons stumbled back, grasping his forearm. With one more pointed, threatening look, Ravena turned on her heel and stalked out of the Crooked Crane, shoving out of her way those that blocked her.

As she left, a lithe, hooded figure stood from the dice game, despite the protests of the other players. Ignoring them, the figure moved towards the door, following in Ravena’s footsteps. As it neared the door, it shot a pointed glare in Jons direction, and when the tavernkeep noticed, he quickly busied himself by cleaning an already shining glass.

Out in the warm night, Ravena’s anger drained from her. While she had no sympathy for those who lied to protect criminals, she very well couldn’t blame Jons for trying to protect his life. But, she thought, at least I know who to question. She stopped suddenly, hearing a shuffling sound behind her, almost like a person stopping mid-step. Standing still for a few moments, Ravena continued walking up the lane towards an inn where she had rented a room. After a minute or two of walking, she stopped suddenly, listening for that same shuffling noise. This time it was unmistakable.

Wheeling around, Ravena wrenched her saber from its scabbard in fury. Faced with nothing but the moons-lit streets, she called out through gritted teeth, “Show yourself, or by Dagon I’ll find you myself! Where are you?”

Ravena heard another rustling noise, then heard, spoken right into her hear, “Behind you”. The next thing the Ra’Gada felt was a boot being pressed to her back, and a strong push that sent her tumbling to the ground.

Now fully enraged, Ravena leapt up onto her feet, brandishing her blade in front of her. Now that she could see he attacker, she took the figure in. Her assailant wore a tight-fitting suit of leather armor, and the shapely hips and jutting bosoms confirmed that it was a woman. A sand-colored cloak was draped over her with the hood up, and with a mask, it hid her face completely. The only thing that shown were the wild looking eyes. Red eyes. Dunmer eyes.

“Stendaar’s Justice, it’s you!” Ravena struck out with her blade in a sweeping arc, but the wide blow was easily parried by Neira’s curved dagger.

“Tsk, Tsk,” Neira said as she danced away from the Ra’Gada bounty hunter, “You’ll have to try better than that if you want to fight me, sweet heart.” Stepping back near her opponent, the Dunmer sidestepped Ravena’s attempt to cleave through her hood, then delivered a strike to Ravena’s solar plexus with the pommel of her dagger.

Neira stood over her foe as Ravena collapsed to the ground, the breath knocked out of her. With her foot, the elf kicked away her hunter’s saber before kneeling down next to the gasping woman. “I’m sorry I had to do that,” she whispered sweetly, “But you didn’t leave me any choice. I don’t like being hunted.”

“You murdered a man,” Ravena gasped between breaths, “And injured others. What did you expect?”

“Hmph,” Neira snorted indignantly, “What you call murder and assault, I call self-defense. If anyone ever touches me like that again,” she raised her hand, and extended her index finger. Then, with her dagger, she made the motion of chopping it off, then balled her fist, “I’ll do something worse than kill him and beat up his thugs.” Neira was about to continue when she heard the sound of footsteps and people coming up the lane. Getting to her feet, the Dunmer gave one more dismissive look to her adversary before sheathing her dagger, then took off running up the lane, her cloak billowing out behind her.

Fleeing down and alley, kicking the trash out of her way, Neira emerged into a dimly-lit square. By now, she could hear the sounds of the alarm being raised by the men who, doubtlessly, stumbled upon Ravena gasping for air. Casting her eyes calmly about the square for a fast way out, Neira’s eyes landed on a man and his horse.

Outside the dimly lit traveler’s stop, a common sight in western Hammerfell, a young man was brushing down his steed as it drank for a water trough. With his cowled cloak, and his back turned to her, Neira couldn’t determine what race the man was. However, by appearance he wasn’t very tall, and despite the curved sword hanging from his hip, he didn’t seem very threatening either. Moving quickly on her toes, the Dunmer woman snuck quietly up behind the man as he ran his hands through his horse’s mane. Not noticing her, she took her chance and slipped her dagger around his neck, and with her free-hand, twisted his sword arm behind his back.

“Hey…What-what’s going on?” He struggled for a bit, but quickly stopped when he felt Neira’s knife prick his throat. “What do you want?” he asked in a much more serious tone, “Let me guess, my money or my life?”

Laughing gently into his ear, Neira cooed, “Oh my, nothing so low as that, darling. I just want your horse. Now we can do this the easy way,” she started to loosen her grip on the man’s arm, “Or the hard way,” and then she promptly applied more pressure, eliciting a soft yelp from her target.

“Well, as much as I’m a – ow – glutton for punishment, I think I’ll take the easy way.” Released from Neira’s grasp, the man turned to finally face his mugger.

Seeing his face for the first time, the Dunmer forgot she was likely being pursued. “Long way from home, aren’t you, Breton?”

The Breton flashed a white smile. “You could say that, yes. And now that you’re taking my horse I’ll--” The man stopped speaking; cocking his head to the side as if listening for something. “Did you hear that? Sounds like people coming.” When he turned his attention back to the girl, he found that she was no longer standing beside him, but was already mounted up on the massive horse.

“I’m really sorry about this,” Neira said as she wheeled the horse north, “If I ever meet you again, I’ll make it up to you.”

“Hey-whoa, wait! What did you do?” But before he could fully complete the question, Neira had kicked at her mount’s side, spurring it north, towards the only gate that was open at night. Left alone in the dust, the Breton slumped forward and frowned. “Well that was rude.” The man was soon joined by a crowd of people wielding numerous weapons and carrying torches. At the head of this mob was a furious Ra’Gada woman holding in her hand a saber.

“You there,” she called in a voice as enraged as she looked, “Identify yourself!”

The Breton backed up some, putting his arms out in front of him as if to ward off evil. “Whoa, whoa, calm down. If you’re looking for--”

“I said identify yourself,” the Ra’Gada roared again.

“Er-Ernand Leoriane.”

Satisfied, the mob surged into the square and spread out into all direction. The woman, for her part, walked up to Ernand. The look on her face was not one to give him any comfort, but at least she didn’t seem intent on killing him.

“Where did she go? Ravena whispered fiercely, “We know she came in here. Did you see her?”

See her?” Ernand almost laughed, “I did more than see her. She nigh broke my arm and stole my horse. That Dunmer is likely almost to the gate by now.”

A crestfallen look replaced Ravena’s angry one, but only for a few moments. Then, murderous rage.

“Damnit. Damnit! DAMNIT!”

I see I haven't commented on this recently. Shame on me.

Good stuff, still. I loved your description of Rihad, and of Ravena the bounty hunter. The interaction between her and Neira was very enjoyable.

Spoken like a true independent woman (or a female veterinarian - we practice multiple methods, ya know )!

Again, enjoyable and well done!

Neira seems to be a strange one, I like how you made the criminal more likeable than the law enforcer it adds intregue to the characters.

Good movement to the plot though, makes me want to see what comes next.

Good stuff.

Ditto Olen's comment, I can't say it any better, and it is exactly how it struck me! Great Write!

Your first paragraph paints a very strong (and disgusting) picture of the darker underside of Rihad. It creates a dark, dingy mood that suits the piece very well, being that it centers on a bounty hunter and her quarry.

Exciting action, characters who are smart, and use those smarts, what is not to like? A good solid chapter that leaves me wanting to see more of these new characters!


nits:
created an invisible miasma that clang to the cramped alley
clang means to make noise. Clung is the word you are looking for.


a short, wane little man with a large, bald head,
I think you meant wan?


Now that she could see he attacker, she took the figure in.
That will be her, I am sure.


Outside the dimly lit traveler’s stop, a common sight in western Hammerfell,
My map shows Rihad as being at the very eastern end of Hammerfell, practically in Cyrodiil?

Lastly, you were head-hopping from one pov character to another throughout the piece. You start with the pov firmly in Ravena's head, then it briefly moves to Neira as she steals Ernands' horse, then finally ends up with him. If you want to change pov, then you need to completely stop the scene, put in some sort of divider so we know it is over, and then start a brand new scene from the new pov. Otherwise it becomes very confusing. Think of it as a film, where you have one camera and microphone, and they reside in the head of your pov character. Before you can move the camera, you have to end the scene.

.

ROFL !!!!

Chapter Fourteen: Down to Business

The square was deserted now except for Ernand and Ravena. The men of Rihad that had come to the bounty hunter’s aid had taken their leave, grumbling in irritation that they had been awoken from their slumbers for nothing. With their leaving, the Ra’Gada’s anger and annoyance with the whole night’s situation exploded on the only target available.


Putting him his arms to up ward away Ravena’s anger, Ernand took a few steps back saying, “Look, I don’t know anything about that woman.”

“You lie!” Ravena yelled furiously, “Where did she go? By Malacath if you don’t tell me…” With her sentence trailing off, that served to heighten the Breton’s fear for his safety. “Where is her hideout? Tell me now!”

“Hey,” a shout rang out from above the pair, “Shut up down there! People are trying to sleep!”

Turning her anger from the Breton, she began to berate the pedestrian in such colorful language that, when she turned back to Ernand, she noticed that the look of fear on his face had been replaced with one of complete, and total, shock.

“Are you done?” Ernand asked in a flat voice, “Or was that just a warm up?” Giving him a sinister glare, Ravena then sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. Sympathetic to her distress, the Breton took a few paces towards her. “Look,” he began in a consoling tone, “I would tell you what you wanted to know if I could. Hell, that woman did steal my horse after all. But I just got to Rihad myself.”

Looking up at him, Ravena’s eyes narrowed. “Where are you coming from?” she asked suspiciously.

“Valenwood,” the Breton responded honestly, “I was on a ship for about a week.” With a grin manifesting itself on his face, Ernand continued in a cheery voice. “So, I very well couldn’t have been in league with that woman.”

“But she took a horse that you provided…” Despite her words, doubt had crept into her voice, and she couldn’t help but question Ernand in a more civil tone. Straightening her posture, Ravena regarded Ernand with a steely gaze, asking, “What were you doing out her this late anyway?”

“Me?” Ernand leaned back against the wall of the hostel that the bounty hunter had backed him into to, “I was just watering my horse,” he said pointing to the filled trough of water down on his right, “And then that woman came along and stole it.”

Ravena grunted. “Well, looks like I get to add another crime to her list. Horse-theft is a hanging offense in Hammerfell.” Dropping her hand to the hilt of her sword, Ravena looked up into the night sky and sighed. A cloud had drifted in front of Masser, but Secunda and the stars still shown brightly in the night sky.

“I almost had her,” she said suddenly, “And that damned Jons knew she was here! Damnit, I’ll gut him for this!”

Ernand quirked an eyebrow, asking, “Who is Jons? A friend of yours?”

“Not anymore,” Ravena spat, “He’s the owner of the Crooked Crane.” Seeing his lack of comprehension, Ravena gave a labored sigh and continued. “It’s a popular tavern near the docks. I expected, rightly apparently, that I might be able to get some information about Neira there.”

“Neira?” Ernand cocked his head to the side, “So that’s her name. Sounds elven.”

“Yeah, she’s one of those damned, dangerous Dark Elves. Anyway, Jons just evaded the question when I asked about her. Then, lo and behold, I get attacked in the streets. If that murdering witch hasn’t killed him yet, I sure as hell will!”

Ernand shook his head, giving a slight chuckle, and crossing his hands in front of himself several times. “Let’s not get hasty now, he might have information we need.”

This time it was Ravena’s turn to loaf of bread her eyebrow in question. “’We’? I don’t need your help.”

“True that may be, I want my horse back. Traveling on foot takes too long.”

“So why don’t you just buy another one?” She motioned from his feet to his head, indicating his fine clothes and silver armor, “Honestly, you look like you could just buy another one.”

Ernand exhaled in mild irritation, “I bought that horse in Valenwood. True, I could buy another one here, but horses here in the West are expensive. That steed cost me about nine-hundred septims, and it was as fine a horse as I’ve ever ridden. Nine-hundred here? That would buy me an old nag.”

“Fine, point taken,” the Ra’Gada groaned. “Ok, I know I’ll regret this; you don’t look like you’ve ever hunted a person before. But we can talk about that later. For now, let’s just go beat some information out of Jons, then we’ll talk about how to split the bounty.” Turning on her heel, Ravena left the square with Ernand in tow.



The night is always darkest before the dawn. As Ernand and Ravena made their way through the pitch-black streets, the only light being provided by the Breton’s light spell, the stars began to blink out one by one. Masser never did make another appearance that night, and Secunda had joined its elder brother behind the clouds. However, with Ravena navigating the streets by Ernand’s provided light, the pair arrived at the Crooked Crane just as Rihad was entering the twilight hours of dawn.

Not even bothering to check if the door was locked, Ravena leaned into the door, and bringing herself back, slammed her whole body into the portal. Ernand himself winced, casting wary eyes about the scene to assure himself there were no witnesses to this particular crime.

“Was that really necessary,” Ernand asked as he followed the bounty hunter through the busted doorway, almost tripping over the remains of the broken door, “I mean, is not this a crime, as well?”

Ravena turned her head, giving the Breton as fierce glare that sent a chill down his spine. Quietly, she sternly whispered, “He fears that Dark Elf…Jons needs to know to fear me!”

“Ok,” Ernand murmured, “But when we get arrested, I’m going to tell the watch it was all your fault.” Ravena, for her part, gave a snort that passed as a laugh.

The common room was dark, the hearth fire having been allowed to burn down to cinders. Narrowing his eyes, Ernand was able to make out the room clearly enough, and he sighed with relief. They had been lucky enough for no others to be present in the common room; sailors to drunk to even leave the tavern.

“Toss up another one of your spells, Breton,” came the Ra’Gada’s voice through the darkness, “I can’t see a thing in this darkness, and we need to find the stairs.”

With a quick utterance of an incantation of Light from Ernand’s mouth, a softly murmured “pallo valon”, the tavern was lit up with the created orb’s soft, green light. Able to see easily now, the duo found the way up to the next level, a narrow staircase tucked away in the storeroom behind the bar.

As they began to ascend, Ravena stopped suddenly, causing Ernand to stumbled before reaching out to the wall to steady himself. “Why are we stopping?” the Breton asked, “Are you having second thoughts?”

“No. I want you to stay down here and watch the streets. If anyone comes looking in, come get me.”

“Well, with the remains of a door in an empty doorway, I’m sure someone will come looking,” Ernand snorted, “So you better make it quick.”

After saluting Ravena as she continued up the dark staircase, Ernand sighed and turned around to walk back down the stairwell. As he neared the bottom, his magick petered out, forcing him to toss-up another Light spell. Uttering the incantation, a orb of light flew up above his head, hitting the ceiling of the storeroom, where it stayed.

Moving over to the wall opposite the heavy oaken door, the Breton plopped down onto a bench between two large shelves cluttered with jugs of booze, utensils, and old food. If this is Hammerfell’s idea of a popular tavern, I’m glad Skyrim is winning the war up north. Leaning his head back against the hard clay wall, Ernand’s thoughts turned from the seedy tavern to his entire situation.

I set out to find the Fang Lair, and what happens? I get my horse stolen, and now I’m involved in breaking and entering. Me, an upstanding member…[i/] Ernand gave a slight chuckle that held little humor, [i]Former member, of the Elder Council. Damn you, Ria, you just HAD to pull me into this, didn’t you? Sure, no one knows I escaped from Tharn’s little private dungeon, but by recovering pieces of the Balac-Thurm, doesn’t that make me more vulnerable? Like a candle bobbing in the dark; I’ll be visible to his wicked magick. Groaning, Ernand leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. Rubbing the exhaustion and frustration from his eyes, he looked up, cupping his chin in his palms.

Faint light had begun to filter in through the small window near the ceiling on the wall to his left, and his thoughts took another turn. “Has it been one month already,” he said out loud, “One month since I was dropped out of the sky into that damp forest? I wonder if those elves are alright.”

His thoughts got no further due to the sudden bout of cursing he heard come down from the top of the stairs. Like before in the square, it was colorful enough to peel paint off walls.

“Looks like the hunter found her quarry. I wonder how long it will take to make the kill.”



“Oh, sweet merciful Stendaar,” screamed Jons when, by the scruff of his nightgown, he was torn from his bed, “How did ye get in here?”

A terrifying grin crossed Ravena’s face as she pulled him closer, her great strength lifting the smaller Ra’Gada off the floor.

“What, weren’t expecting me to come back so early? I told you I’d be back, didn’t I. Or is that you didn’t expect me to come back at all; in fact, you expected me to be found in the morning with a knife in my back!”

“Oh, Ravena,” he blubbered, “I swear I don’t know what ye be talking about!”

“Liar! You knew Neira was here, didn’t you?” She violently shook Jons, and his head violently snapped back and forth, “Didn’t you! Where is she hiding?”

“I swear to ye, on me sweet mother’s grave that I-,” Jon’s didn’t get any further before Ravena flung him down onto the floor with a resounding thud. Out of her grasp now, the barkeep made an attempt to crawl away, but the combined effects of his large form, and frayed nerves only allowed him to move at a snail’s pace. Such was his fear, he was unable to do anything about the well-placed kick to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him, and forcing him flat to the floor.

Fiercely turning him over to face her, Ravena kneeled until she was right in Jons’s face. After staring at him until he started to whimper, Ravena snarled, “Where. Is. She?”

After a few moments of catching his breath, and his mind not working in tandem with his mouth, he managed to squeak, “Chougand. Sh-sh-she has a safe house in Chougand.”

“There,” Ravena said in an almost demonically sweet tone, “Was that so hard?” Getting fully to her feet, Ravena gave him a little tap with her toe, sending him into another fit of weeping. With a savage laugh, the bounty hunter turned on her heel and stalked from the barkeep’s chamber, and back down the stairs into the storeroom.

When she fully descended, she found Ernand still sitting there. “So, did you get what you wanted?”

Ravena grinned and winked, saying with brutal satisfaction, “Did you doubt me? Come on, we better get moving.”

“Where are we headed?” Ernand asked as he stood from the bench, muttering a incantation of dispel, plunging the storeroom into shadows once again.

“Chougand. It’s about an hour’s walk up the shore. A little fishing village. The turd upstairs says Neira has a safe house there. If she does, that Dark Elf is probably gone by now, but it’s a good place to start.”

I'm finding that I'm enjoying this irascible bounty hunter quite a bit! Oooh, scary!

However, there's this:

Normally I can figure out what is meant when the censor kicks in, but I've never seen this one, and I can't imagine what she would be doing with her eyebrow to warrant the creative editing!

I think my new signature explains it.

Haute I should imagine she was 'matured male chickening' her eyebrow (which somehow sounds worse). Seriously though since when was that even a rude word?

Good piece, I'm enjoying how this is moving forwards with lots of side questswhich move the main one along. Makes me want to know not only if he'll get his horse back and when he'll get to fang lair but which side he will fall on when Ravena finds her quarry... I like how you've shown Ravena, she's a good character and not nessesarily any better than Neira, in fact I wonder if there is more behind her search...

One nit:
You got a bbcode tag wrong in the italicised section:

Ravena may just have met her match in Ernand, he continues to stay cool at all times! And my, what a nice loaf of bread he has! Is that whole wheat? ROFL !!!!

I like how you described the moons, and their movements, during the story. The two moons are one of the things about the ES setting I do not like, as they always throw me with thoughts of how much light they cast, what shade it is, and what their cycles are.

If this is Hammerfell’s idea of a popular tavern, I’m glad Skyrim is winning the war up north.
zing!

Ravena is certainly a bull in a china shop! She is a very fun character to read. I love her breaking down the door of the tavern!


haute: the board does not randomize swears. Its replacements are always the same for each word. The word you are looking for is a variation of rooster, only it starts with a 'c'.


nits
“What were you doing out her this late anyway?”
A typo on here.


the only light being provided by the Breton’s light spell,
The word light is repeated here. I think you can just delete the second instance and the sentence will read fine.


sailors to drunk to even leave the tavern.
A typo on too.


[i/] Ernand gave a slight chuckle that held little humor, [i]
Something went wrong with your italics code here.

Thanks for the comments, ya'll!




I think that may be because I type the bbcodes in word, rather than putting them in here. Doesn't surprise me I would screw up eventually.


Well, he is a politician. If he can't stay cool, bad things happen. Don't worry 'bout it though, he ain't no stoic.

And now the next chapter, with 100% less loaf of bread. For now

Chapter Fifteen: The Old Village by the Sea

Magnus, the sun, was just beginning to peek over the horizon when Ernand stuck his head out of the smashed-in doorway. An early morning mist shrouded Rihad, obscuring his visibility, but the Breton didn’t see any silhouettes of possible witnesses to the crime that had just occurred that early morning. After turning his head, first to the right then the left, to make sure things were clear on all sides, the motioned with his hand for Ravena to move. The Ra’Gada shoved past him into the street, seeming to not even care if they were caught. Ernand, on his part, moved out of the tavern at a much more sedate pace.

As they began to put distance between themselves and the tavern, Ernand asked, “So if Chougand is just a fishing village, why would Neira be hiding there. You’d think she would choose a better place.”

Ravena chuckled with constrained amusement, something the Breton was learning to expect from her. “You have a lot to learn, Ernand. This place she has in Chougand is just a safe house. There is a big,” she illustrated this by throwing her arms out wide, “Difference between safe house and hide out.”

“So there is a good chance she isn’t there anymore?”

“Hmph, I’d say a bigger chance than ‘good’. That Dark Elf probably bugged out hours ago.”

Ernand quirked an eyebrow in question. “So why are we even bothering to go? If she has already left-,” He got no further as Ravena lightly slapped the back-side of his head. “What was that for?!”

But the bounty hunter ignored her companion’s indignation. “It’s the only lead we have, so we might as well take it. Besides,” she shrugged her shoulder, “We might find a few clues as to where she went…Maybe even horse tracks. And if not, I’m sure a few coins to the village people will get us at least a little something.”

“Ah, bribery,” Ernand sighed, his former annoyance with being hit forgotten, “Is there nothing it can’t solve.”

Ravena grinned and snapped her fingers into a point up under the Breton’s chin, “There are few things that can’t be solved by throwing money at it. For everything else,” her grin got a little wider, “There’s violence.”

As Ravena guffawed at her own joke, Ernand politely joined in with a sedate chuckle. Ahead, Rihad’s western gate loomed. Constructed of the same red stone of the cities walls, topped with stout wooden towers, it was an imposing structure. The guards on duty there courteously nodded their heads as the pair exited the city-proper into the small agricultural community outside the walls.

Unlike the people of the city, who would continue to sleep for a few more hours, the farming folks were already up an about their business. Having been born in cosmopolitan Alcaire, Ernand had never been very exposed to agriculture, but he found it interesting. Winter was coming to a close, and despite the fields not yet being ready for planting, the growers had already begun cultivating their fields in preparation. The men, behind metal plows drawn by wide-shouldered oxen, turned the soil, as their women went to battle against invasive winter weeds.

It was a good honest life, and Ernand found it boring.

“So how long of a walk did you say it was?”

Ravena, too, had been taking in the agriculture, and by the look on her face, she felt as he did. “Hm? Oh, Chougand is about an hour’s walk. Could have been less if we had ridden.”

“Well, my apologies for slowing you down,” Ernand said with a frown, “If she has already left, she has probably taken my horse, as well.”

“Probably.”

Seeing Ravena’s obvious disinterest in his plight with his horse, the Breton decided to change the subject. “So what did Neira do to get such a bounty on her head?”

Turning her head slightly, Ravena narrowed her eyes on Ernand. “Why do you want to know?”

Ernand raised an eyebrow, saying, “I think I should know what a person has done if I’m hunting her.”

“Not really, no,” Ravena said as she shook her head, “All that matters is that the bounty gets fulfilled.”

“Can you tell me anyway?”

Groaning, Ravena hung her head for a few moments, looking at her boots as they continued to walk. After that, she snapped her head back. “Fine, if you want to know so badly. She broke out of Taneth’s prison, killing the sheriff, and assaulting the guards.”

Ernand gave a low whistle. Raising his hand, he scratched the back of his neck while saying, “So she was already in prison to begin with. What did she do?”

“Pff,” the Ra’Gada scoffed, “I don’t know. Probably burglary or something similar, maybe murder. Don’t worry; Neira Hlallu isn’t one of those high-profile criminals. If she was, the Legion would be personally taking care of her. But when we find her, don’t underestimate her.”

“I notice you say ‘when’, not ‘if’. So you’re confident we can catch her?”

“Sure am. There are only a few place she can go. Roseguard is Taneth’s territory, and Rihad has been alerted to her presence. Mt. Corten would be my first choice, but it would take to long to get there. But she can’t have gone far; she’s between a rock and a hard place.”

Nodding his understanding, Ernand lapsed into silence as he focused on the job ahead. Despite working with Ravena, whose drive when it came to Neria impressed him, he couldn’t help but feel some sympathy for the fugitive Dark Elf. He knew full well what could happen in provincial prisons. He was tempted to ask his companion if there had been an attempted rape, but the Breton got the feeling that the Ra’Gada wouldn’t know, and even if she did, wouldn’t care. And there could have been trouble if the Dark Elf hadn’t been given access to proper legal counsel.

Oh, Stendaar, save me. Do these people even care about proper Imperial legal procedure? Gods, it’s like the Interregnum all over again. Damn you, Tharn…This lawlessness is your fault.



The fishing village of Chougand wasn’t much to look at. Unlike Rihad’s sturdy buildings, the dwellings here were little more than just mud-huts with tarp roofs. Ernand had seen poorer areas before, the Alcaire slums weren’t the most pleasant of places. But the Breton had never seen such crushing poverty as he did when looking at Chougand. He didn’t see any men around, and the rickety-looking dock was empty of boats. Off getting at least a little something for the families it seems. Magnus had finally risen into the sky, and it looked to be a pleasant day, so Ernand silently said a prayer to Kynareth to give those fishermen a good haul.

As the pair entered into the village, the wives and children, both dressed in little more than rags, were instantly paying attention to the armed and armored duo. Great pity welled up in Ernand’s throat, and when he saw Ravena tugging on her saber to get down to business, the Breton reached out to stop her.

“Why don’t you let me take this one.”

Ravena looked at the man as if he had grown another head. “Why?” she asked quizzically.

“They’re just peasants,” he sighed, “You don’t need to threaten to burn down their village.”

“It would work.”

“True that may be, just,” he shut his eyes tightly and shook his hands near his ears to emphasize his frustration, “Just let me do this.”

“Fine,” Ravena almost shouted, shoving her saber back into its scabbard. “I’ll be over there,” she pointed to a large rock along the path they had just come up, “When you’re done talking to these dregs, come get me and we can get down to business.”

Ernand put on his best smile and waved to Ravena as she stalked off back down the path a bit, then turned to the gathering crowd of women and children.

“Hello, everyone. I’m sorry to disturb your labors, but me and my…friend,” he pointed with his thumb to the sulking Ra’Gada on the rock, “We’re looking for someone. We heard she might have come through here.”

They stared blankly at him.

Ernand shifted his eyes back and forth. “Umm…About five feet and eight inches,” he moved his hand over the top of his head, “About my height? Dark Elf, red eyes, bluish-gray skin?”

The older women looked at each other, saying a few words in Yoku. The Breton had never heard it spoken before, but he knew it was still used among the lower orders of Ra’Gada society.

Sighing in frustration, Ernand reached down to his waist for the coin-purse that hung from his belt. Unfastening it, he reached in and pulled out three Ten Septim coins. When he showed them to the crowd, he was instantly mobbed as they sought to reach for the glittering gold.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Ernand yelled as he backed up a bit, “If I’m given the information I want, you all can get some septims. But I need something to go on!” Their eyes fixed on the golden coins, the people of Chougand made haste to tell the Breton everything they knew. Yes, a Dark Elf woman had ridden in not long ago on a strong-looking horse. She had been to the village before as well a week or so ago. She had taken up a short residence in a hut on the shore. She had gone in briefly before striking out east at a very swift pace.

Ernand had to be quick to put coins in their open palms. And by the time he was done, and had the information he wanted, he had given out three-hundred septims to the people. With a friendly smile, and slight nod with his head, the Breton took his leave of the crowd still marveling at money won so easily.

As he walked back down the path to Ravena, his grin instantly tipped the bounty hunter off.

“Are you serious?” she exclaimed as she leaped from her perch, her mouth opened in shock, “How in Malacath’s name did you get anything from them?”

“I just followed your advice,” Ernand said and shrugged, “If there is a problem, throw money at it!”

Ravena raised her finger to say something, but despite her mouth being open, no words would come out. Seeing the Breton’s smug grin filled her with both mild rage and slight admiration.

Sighing heavily, she regained her composure then asked, “So what did you find out?”

“Enough,” Ernand shrugged, “She did have a place here, but it was probably little more than a bed and roof. The peasants also said she went east cross-country. So she’s avoiding roads.” When the Breton saw his companion’s eyes narrow, he tilted his head, “What? Something up?”

Ravena chuckled, “Well isn’t she just a brave little elf.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are only two things to the east,” Ravena began, locking her eyes on Ernand, “The border with Colovia, which has more bounty hunter than you can shake a stick at, and,” a small smile formed on her lips, “Stonekeep.”

“Stonekeep,” Ernand murmured under his breath, the very name sent a chill down his spine, “What is so special about that place?”

“It guards the road leading north from Rihad. It was overrun by goblins not too long ago, so it isn’t the safest place on Nirn.”

“And you think she went there?”

“I can guarantee it! Come on,” Ravena turned on her heel back towards the city, “Let’s go back to Rihad. Mounted, it should take us about four hours to get to that ruin.” Seeing Ernand about to protest, she waved him away, “Don’t worry about it, we’ll get you a mule to ride.”

He was about to really protest that, but Ravena gave him no chance. The Ra’Gada, seeing the end of her hunt before her, was filled with energy and had taken off jogging back to Rihad, leaving the Breton standing alone.

A mule? A mule?! What does she think I am, a monk?! Damnit….Well, at least I can get my horse back now.

Before setting off after Ravena, he turned his gaze east. Though he couldn’t see it, he could visualize the goblin-infested ruins of Stonekeep, and it wasn’t pleasant. Looking down for a moment, he said another prayer to Akatosh for protection for himself and Ravena. Then, milling it over for a few moments, added Neira into the prayer as well.

She’ll need it more than we do.

I have truly enjoyed the interchange between Ravena and Ernand. Made me chuckle more than once!

What? No loaf of bread??

Another fun installment! It looks like Ernand feels more sympathy for Neira than he does for Ravena, and I cannot blame him! I liked how at the end he includes the dark elf in his prayer, even though he is chasing her. It all makes perfect sense. In his shoes I would be too.

I also like how Ernand uses the term Magnus for the sun. That is a good touch at keeping the setting strong.

Gods, it’s like the Interregnum all over again.
Sure, blame Destri for it all!

nits:

There are only a few place she can go.
Looks like Neira stole your "s" in places, along with Ernand's horse.


but it would take to long to get there.
she heisted the extra "o" in too as well.


which has more bounty hunter than you can shake a stick at
and finally got the "s" in hunters.

Good update, and the promise of action...


That made me laugh, it's so Ernand and it's so true.

His increasing sympathy with Neira is well shown, in some way she is more similar to him than Ravena and I can certainly see his allegiance shifting somewhat.

SubRosa caught all the nits I saw though I would question this:
"Neira Hlallu" - is that meant to be Hlaalu? It may well not be but the spelling of the great house from morrowind is with two 'a's.

This chapter may just be my favorite!!! Not much action going on but a ton of interesting development of characters as always immersed in your attention to details another (like me for instance) might miss adding to their story - One of these was such a simple piece of brilliance (the 10 Septim coin - why didn't I think of that? ARGH! - such a tiny thing, but I sure would have liked to have been using it throughout my story!) You ROCK !!!! I loved this chapter !!!

Here is my fave line, just because I loved it:

I'll be finishing up the next chapter tomorrow. My head has been bothering me lately, so that's why it's taken so long.


Not unless you want it, lady

Thanks for readin'.


Thank you, missy. There will be a lot more of that, and more, as the story goes on. I like lore.


Yes, it is meant to Hlallu. I don't think Neira would make a good member of house Hlaalu....


On the subject of the Ten Septim Coin: Who can't realistically carry 11414 septims around with them? Heck, in Daggerfall, gold had weight! You had to use a bank, and then take out letters of credit. So I just ran with that idea a bit.

Finally caught up and now I can't wait till they catch up with the Dunmer Thief lady.

I can't honestly say how I feel about this chapter. After a longtime away from the writing process, I won't say I'm dissapointed. No, that would be wrong. But I can't say I'm pleased with it, either. I had a much more different vision in mind when I started this chapter, but I got a little....involved with the goblins. Much to my annoyance. And I couldn't find a good place to stop with my "loving" description of my green friends and their barbarity.

Heck, I was halfway through when I changed the chapter-title to better reflect my goblin apparent obsession. Maybe I should write a goblin soap opera.

But, stick around for the next chapter when Neira infiltrates Stonekeep. METAL GEAR STYLE!!

Yeah, I've been playing A LOT of MGS4. Sue me.

Edit: Wonderful. Umbrella Seller....

Chapter Sixteen: Goblin Drama

The towering edifice of Stonekeep sat along the mountain road as an opulent ruin. A perpetual shroud of dark mist permeated the land and surrounding foliage. Whether it was foul goblin magick, or their cooking, was left up to any passerby subjecting themselves to the dangers of getting too close to the palace’s wrecked gate house.

Being built at the foothills of the Corten Mountain Range, Stonekeep was covered in a light dusting of snow, appropriate to the mild mid-winter the coast of Hammerfell was experiencing. The resident goblins, as was normal for their kind, did not take well to the cold, and numerous bonfires burned in the courtyard, only adding to the black miasma that hung over the palace.

From her perch in a nearby grove of trees, Neira monitored the green-skinned monsters. Like most goblins in western Tamriel, this tribe was relatively organized. Of course, being goblins, that organization was enforced with violence by the bigger ones on the smaller ones. She could see such an act happening in the gatehouse as a small pack of four goblins were squabbling over a slain hare, only for a much larger greenskin to come along, grunt and attack the others, and took the hare to be roasted on one of the bonfires.

Rubbing her shoulders to get some warmth into them, Neira stood from her spot and faded back into the brush a ways, where she had tethered her stolen horse. It was a small clearing with stamped down grass covered in frost. It was cold and uncomfortable, but off the road and well-hidden. Flopping down, her back against a tree, Neira hung her head in exhaustion, thoughts racing through her mind.

I’m beginning to think coming here wasn’t such a good idea. But I’d freeze if I tried crossing the mountains, and that Redguard umbrella seller, Neira spat on the ground when Ravenna passed through her thoughts, She’d find me if I went to Rose Guard. And then there is likely the hundred hunters from Taneth to Rihad that would be so eager to skewer me and deliver my head to Taneth. Vultures!.

Raising her head, she gazed at the horse, the beast contentedly chewing on the frosted grass. An image of the Breton she had stolen it from flashed through her mind, and how she had promised to make it up to him. Though in her current situation, she was certain she’d probably never even see the man again.

A pity, she thought with a cat-like smile,He was rather cute.

Getting to her feet again, she moved lithely over to the steed, running her hands over the leather saddlebags. In her hurried flight, she hadn’t had time to rummage through them. But, Neira lifted her head to look at the sun’s position, with Magnus nearing its height, and a small army of goblins occupying her only safe haven, that moment was as good a time as any for a little “counting of the spoils”.

Undoing the straps that kept the bags safely closed, Neira then lifted up the flaps and began to rummage through the Breton’s belongings. She wasn’t impressed with what she found. The first object she pulled out was a heavy wool blanket, not valuable, but needed in the winter. Gingerly wrapping the blanket tightly around her, and leaving her arms still free, she continued her inspection.

Winter clothing, trail rations, a simple dagger, and other traveling gear. Nothing special at all.

With a dissatisfied huff, Neira let the flaps drop back down into place, and she waddled back over to the tree to sit down. Snuggling deeper into the wool blanket, she felt her body warming under the soft material.

Unwilling to doze off, the dark elf passed the time by thinking up numerous contingency plans, for the possible event that she was unable to gain entrance to her hideout in the tunnels beneath Stonekeep. The most obvious plan was to cross the Corten Mountains, but with the mountain roads choked with snow, that would be well-nigh impossible. The other plan was to make a dash for the Brena River, and enter Colovia. It would be tough getting through that bounty hunter-infested area, but if she could pass through it, and get to Valenwood, her troubles would be over.

Hopefully[i], she thought to herself, [i]It doesn’t come to that. The masters always said, “News travels faster than the wind. And bounties even faster.”

The sudden blare of a shrill horn brought Neira out of her musings. The noise not only managed to surprise her, but it also spooked her stolen horse, and it began to fight its tether, straining the thin rope to the breaking point. In a series of quick motions, the dark elf untangled herself from the Breton’s blanket, and sprung to her feet, and she moved to calm the steed down. She was, however, too slow, and by the time she started to move, the equine had already broken the rope and sped off, leaving deep hoof prints in the ground.

Blistering the air with foul, dunmeri curses, Neira stood for a time in the clearing, seething with rage. The horn, for its part, continued to sound out, drowning out the continued screaming of the furious woman.

Having exhausted her vocabulary until she was reduced to mindless sputtering, Neira stopped mid-gibberish. After taking several deep breaths and composing herself, she ran a hand through her hair, mussing it. Lacking vanity in her particular situation, she did nothing to fix it. Spinning on her heel, Neira made her way across the clearing and into the tangle of the wood that separated her from the goblin horde of Stonekeep.

Neira’s perch at the edge of the wood was well-chosen spot. Shadowed by the canopy above, and abundant in ground foliage, she simply had to wiggle her way between three bushes under a great cedar tree to become almost invisible, while also affording her an unparalleled view of the goblin fortress.

Nestling deep into the bushes, and drawing her hood up over her hair to hide the clashing fiery red, Neira slowly parted a few leaves and branches until her view of the gates were unobstructed. Before her, in the bailey of the palace, a great troupe of goblins had gathered. Nipping and shoving each other, it appeared to the Dunmer that they were jockeying for position. Quirking her eyebrow, she wondered why.

Her question was answered when the horn sounded again, and the great double doors of the keep-proper flew open, and a second, much smaller group, of goblins marched out. Clad in disheveled armor, and carrying heavy, albeit rusted, weapons, these goblins were some of the most fearsome she had ever seen. As big as Orcs, in girth, they were as well.

The Shaman’s guards, Neira thought to herself as she watched the larger greenskins shove their lesser brethren aside, clearing a rather large space in the center of the great group, But where’s the shaman?

Her question was answered when the horn blew a low, almost mournful note, and the creatures in the bailey fell silent. From out of the keep came two goblins, each the size of the Shaman’s guards. On their shoulder, they carried the bloody corpse of a diminutive, wrinkly goblin with numerous crude arrows sticking out of it. With great reverence, they bore their load through the goblins, who parted like water to let them through. When they reached the center of the gathering, they gently laid the body out onto the snow-patched ground.

Then a great, collective, ear-bursting scream came from the goblins in the bailey.

Neira clutched her ears as she reeled out of the bushes and back into the forest. She had never encountered this before. From what she knew of goblins, the cared little for their kind, and were more likely to feast on a fallen comrade than mourn him.

As the screaming subsided, and Neira’s the ringing ceased in her ears, the Dunmer crawled, weakly, back to her perch. She almost regretted it when she saw what the monsters were doing then. With their simple weapons, they were raking the dull blades and rusty nails across their bodies, roaring with primal fury and misery.

From her perch, Neira could only blink in total confusion. Something was wrong with these creatures. “This is too much,” she muttered to herself, “This…this is unnatural.”

The goblins stopped their mutilations, however, when the horn sounded a final time, and six small goblins, clad in dirty rags, and each carrying a staff, marched out of keep. Two of them, the ones in the front, marched with staves much more ostentatious, painted in loud, garish colors, and decorated with feathers, bones, and other baubles. The two goblins in the rear each had a rope in his hand, and between them they pulled a great, unruly goblin into the bailey.

The captive goblin was subjected to kicks, strikes, and furious growls as its captors lead it into the center of the gathering. Undaunted, it snarled and bit back, but bound as it way, it was unable to ably defend itself. Once in the center, the guards wasted no time in shoving their captive to the ground, and began to savagely thrash it with their weapons. The other goblins cheered as their betters did what they all desired to do.

When the captive had been suitably mauled, it was picked up, and thrown into the crowd by two of the guards, where, Neira was sure, it was torn apart quite quickly. When attention was turned back to the staff-carrying goblins, she talked amongst themselves before raising one of the fancier staves to sky, the throwing it to the ground, stomping on it until it was broken into the pieces. Stooping down, one of them scooped up the centerpiece of the staff, a large bird’s skull, and raised it high, and the other goblins cheered. Then, one of the larger goblins began to scream in its guttural language, which Neira could hear quite clearly but couldn’t understand.

When it was finished, the others ran all about the bailey, picking up weapons and half-cooked rabbits. Slowly, they began to trickle back to the gathering point, until once again they were all gathered. Then the tribal staff, the unbroken one, was raised high over the tribes dead shaman, and then more screaming.

But what shocked Neira the most was the relatively ordered march that occurred after the brief funeral for their slain shaman.

“By Almalexia’s left teet! They’re going to war!”

Neira watched, quietly, as the goblins marched south down the mountain road towards Rihad. It took several minutes before the horde turned west, disappearing into the woods in search of their enemy who has assassinated their spiritual leader. But even out of sight, she could still clearly hear their war cries.

Flopping onto the ground, Neira sat for a few moments in utter shock and confusion. Flinging her hood back, she ran her hands through her hair again.

Ok, Neira, calm down. Yes, you just saw what could possibly be the most strange thing you will ever see in your entire life. Getting to her feet, she faded a few feet back into the forest to avoid the sight of any sentries that may have been left behind. Ok, I accept that. Good. Then Neira began to chuckle lightly to herself, marveling at her good fortune. With the horde on the warpath, it would be a much simpler act to penetrate the palace and get to the tunnels below where he hideout was.

And if that bounty hunter happens to run into a few berserk goblins, well, I can’t say I’ll be upset!

I loved your description of the savage, yet reverent ritual of the burial of the Goblin leader (the Shaman I presume) and the punishment and consequential tearing apart of the asassin.

I am routing for Neira tho, can't help myself, I have a thng for red-head Dunmer ladies lol

I would remove your disclaimer at the top, this chapter is AWESOME !!!!

Like any student of animal (here I include humans) behavior, I found this vignette of goblin behavior quite fascinating. It kept me reading and I really enjoyed myself. You did well to write this chapter - though it may or may not have anything to do with the plot, it is still an outstanding piece.

Loved it!

Imaginative, vivid, and compelling. Scenes like the one you describe are why I continue to read- to see something new and unexpected. The entire ritual, as well as the hierarchical squabbling, come across as fitting what little we know of TES goblins.

Whether it was foul goblin magick, or their cooking
I love this wry humor!

Redguard umbrella seller
Coming from a desert, one would not expect to find too many Redguards selling umbrellas...

The goblins were very cool! I loved the funeral, and their execution of what I take was the assassin. Or perhaps just a handy victim they sacrificed to their gods (hmmm, I wonder what do goblins worship, Malacath?) for their favor in their campaign. All in all, well worth letting them take over your keyboard for this segment!


nits:
she thought with a cat-like smile,He was rather cute.
Two things here. First there is no space after the comma. Second, that ought to be a lowercase he

Hopefully[i], she thought to herself, [i]
You have some errant bbcode here.

Stick around then . She's no one-shot.


Well, other peoples enjoyment makes me enjoy it more


I get distracted easy, but I'm glad you liked it!


Yeah, I thought I might try to...spice the goblins up a little. TES is a pretty rich world, yeah, but its woefully lakcing in some areas. I kinda went with the whole "totem-war" thing that was supposed to be in Oblivion, and ran with it.


It's almost purely by accident.


This site is fun to upload fics to. You never know what the censor will do! Maybe we should make a drinking game....


I really need to learn to proofread...

Anyway

Here is another chapter. Apologies for the long duration lacking any reading. School has been murder, and Tanahk study takes up no small amount of time. But I like how this chapter came out, I think it gives more insight into Neira, while actually advancing the story for once

News: I'm gonna stop the subtitles for chapters, mostly cause I'm not creative enough to think up good ones

Chapter Seventeen

As the goblin horde disappeared into the forest to bring brutal battle to a rival tribe, Neira faded back into the woods, and moved quickly back to the clearing. As she bounded through the woods, her plan for infiltration slowly began to form.

Alright, so entering the bailey directly would be suicide. Those monsters probably have that gate watched like hawks. She ducked a low-hanging branch that was in her path as she sped back to her campsite. So I’m going to have to go over the walls…Dammit.

She slowed her pace substantially when the trees began to thin out, and then went to an unhurried walk when she finally emerged into the clearing where he gear was leaning up against the tree, from which the horse had broken off its tether. She spat at the ground, still somewhat angry over the horse abandoning her, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to take it into the keep with her.

But I could have used it as a diversion, at least!

Moving over to her pack, she spent the next few minutes rummaging through it, rearranging some things, and removing some all together. Food, clothes, and other non-essentials she ditched, throwing them over her shoulder and onto the snow where, likely, some stray animal would happen along them and consume it. Next, she removed a long length of rope, along with a grappling-hook of cold steel. She set those two items aside.

She then removed her sand-colored cloak, tossing it behind her as well, and pulled a much darker gray one from the back. Draping it over her head, she lifted its mask up over her face, and pulled the hood to cover her head. Then giving the pack another once-over, and removing a cumbersome set of assorted knives, she slung it over her shoulders.

Scooping up the rope and hook, Neira got back to her feet. Checking the curved dagger at her waist to assure herself it was secure, she started walking back into the wood, but this time heading north, deeper in, rather than east back to the road. As she walked, she uncoiled a few feet of the rope, threading it through the ring at the base of the hook until she was able to tie a secure knot. This took several minutes; the width of the rope required her apply a great deal of force to push the head of the rope through the ring, then to pull it through.

After a short period of walking, Neira guessing no more than a half-hour, she made a sharp turn to her right, heading back towards the road. A quarter-hour later, she emerged from the wood and was back onto the mountain road.

Now for the hard part, she groaned inwardly, as she carefully made her way to the walls of Stonekeep.



Neira skidded to a halt when she reached the walls of Stonekeep. Above her, the pitted and weathered walls loomed high, enshrouding her in shade. Up above on the battlements, she could hear the clanking of a goblin sentry as it made its rounds about the wall.

Security is pretty tight, Neira thought as she reached down to unhook the rope from her belt, I was sure there would be less goblins!Listening closely until she heard the fainting sound of a goblin sentry moving away from his position above her, Neira strung the rope out. After making sure the hook was firmly attached to the end of the coil, she began to twirl it at her side, building up momentum slowly. Judging the moment to be right, the Dunmer released her hold on the rope and it went soaring up.

The tell-tale clink of the hook latching to the rampart sang like music in Neira’s ear. However, she continued to wait at the bottom after giving the rope a few discreet tugs, to assure herself of its safety. It wasn’t until she was positive that no goblin had heard her hook that she took hold of the rope, and began to gradually make her way, vertically, up the wall.

Although she had to occasionally stop, letting a sentry pass by, she eventually reached the top, and carefully clambered up onto the ramparts. Her being singing with joy at her success, Neira took a moment to raise the rope and up reattach it to her belt.

just in case I need it again, she thought.

Her task completed, she crouched low again, pressing herself up against the crenulated rampart, seeking what minor camouflage she could gain from its shadowed rear, and stared out onto the bailey below her.

To Neira’s mind, squalor was the only word she could use to describe the conditions of the bailey. Apparently, the spacious accommodations of Stonekeep hadn’t been enough for this particular tribe of goblins, and they had taken to building ramshackle hut, and pitching numerous ratty tents in the free space of the bailey. Not only that, but the remains of their meals lay scattered about in haphazard piles, mingling with the dirt and other filth.

The smell, bad enough from the forest west of the citadel, was almost overpowering now that she was inside. Neira was sure now that it was certainly due to their cooking, for no magick could ever foster in a dump such as what was below her in the bailey.

Overcoming her disgust, and nausea, the Dunmer turned her head to seek out the sentries on the walls. Seeing none on her left, where the only path led straight into a decrepit guard tower, she twisted her eyes right, where her gaze settled on a group of sentries, fighting loudly over a piece of moldering bread.

With the monsters distracted, Neira found her way clear on her left. So, still crouching, she snuck towards the portal of the ruined tower. As she entered the shadowed doorway, her eyes took some time to adjust to the shadowed interior of the tower. Round it was, with the only light streaming in being from open doorway behind her, and from numerous arrow slits above. Closing the door behind her, the room was once again plunged into darkness. Gradually, her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, and she could clearly navigate her way.

The room was empty, having nothing but a few shattered boxes in the corner. But, on her right, spiraling down the wall, was a staircase that could take her to the bottom level, and, she thought hopefully, out into bailey so she could access Stonekeep’s great hall. As her foot stepped onto the first stair, however, it gave such a creek that echoed through the tower like a banshee’s scream.

Groaning, Neira stopped her descent to listen for possible pursuit. When it was clear that none of the goblins out on the wall had heard her slip up, the woman continued down their stairs, albeit more carefully this time. Reaching the bottom, she stepped off the lowest step and onto the floor of the tower. Equally dark as the level above, Neira was unable to see much, and was given a terrible shock when a ragged intake of breath echoed in the darkness.

Deftly drawing her dagger, and leaping backwards up the stairs a few steps, Neira awaited the oncoming goblin attack.

But it never came.

Lowering her dagger cautiously, Neira summon what minor magick she knew, and cast a weak light spell that, nonetheless, light the pitch black tower well enough for her to see. With the light floating above her head, she was clearly able to make out the source of the heavy breathing. In front of her a few wait was a collection of broken boxes, barrels, and crates. In one of these barrels, a goblin sat, stuck, and passed out. Its head was slumped down, constricting its neck and causing the rasp in goblins breathing.

Vulnerability. Neira grinned wickedly when she looked at the goblin. So vulnerable…like a little child. Laughing wickedly, she raised her dagger again, and carefully snuck over to the slumbering goblin, her grin growing wider. With flaming eyes shining, she looked down at the monster below her. Reaching out with her blade, Neira stroked the goblin’s cheek like a mother would her child. The goblin, baring its teeth in its sleep, snarled unconsciously at Neira’s tender touch.

Suddenly, the Dunmer narrowed her eyes and brought her dagger up. Then, flashing downward, Neira jammed her blade into the base of the monster’s neck. Its eyes flew open, but it could make no move to defend itself.

“Ahh…” Neira breathed out as she retrieved her dagger from the corpse, “One down, only a thousand more to go.” She laughed shrilly, but catching herself, quickly quieted. She could hear her heart pounding, and felt the blood rushing through her veins. It never felt different to her, killing, it always gave her a rush, a feeling she couldn’t gain elsewhere, not even during lovemaking.

Alma have mercy on me! I need to control myself. Alright, Neira, stop. Stop; think. You just did something stupid. Sighing, the woman retrieved her weapon from the goblin’s neck, and took a handkerchief from a belt-pouch to clean it of the blood. Disposing of the soiled cloth, Neira sheathed her dagger back at her waist and, casting one last look at the now-slain goblin, stepped over to the door that would lead her out into the bailey.

Light flooded into the tower as Neira pulled the door open. However, the shrieking of the hinges was enough to give the woman fright, and she jumped back into the shadows of the tower not touched by the light. She couldn’t hear the loud squabbling going on anymore, and she could only pray that the monsters hadn’t heard her. Her heart fell, then, when she heard the tell-tale snarls and mumbles that passed for goblin-speech getting nearer. To Neira’s ears, the noises issuing from the monster’s throat sounded quite irate, as if very unhappy that the tower was open.

Seconds passed before the goblin stood framed in the doorway, its features blocked by the light at its back. However, Neira, crouched low in the shadows under the stairs right of the doorway, didn’t need to see that this goblin was less that beautiful, for the smell alone was enough to confirm her suspicion that this was the ugliest individual since Boethia made Malacath.

The goblin’s speech became even louder as it entered the doorway, screaming and snarling at the corpse in the barrel that she had made. It took a few steps further in, now stomping its feet and brandishing its club. Such anger that it failed to notice the Dunmer to its right.

Taking advantage of the greenskin’s distraction, Neira moved silently behind it. Although the stench almost overpowered her, she willed herself to reach out, springing up from her position to grasp the goblin’s skinny neck and wrangle it to the ground, all while it tried to scream, and sputtered. It finally stopped squirming after a short time, and its beady eyes glazed over before rolling back in death.

Standing over her kill, the Dunmer couldn’t help but admire her handiwork. If I keep going at this rate, she thought, I’ll have the entire keep cleaned out in no time. Ha! If I did that, those Redguards would probably pardon me! Dragging the corpse into the shadows, she covered it with some debris to hide it from view further, then, her path clear, she once again peeked her head out the door.

This time around, there were no monsters in her way, and it took nothing more than a quick sprint and up some stairs to bring her to the doors of the Great Hall. In far better shape than the tower door, the doors to the Hall made only a small squeak as she pushed them open.

Inside, she wasn’t shocked to see the condition of the Hall, in fact, she was more surprised that it was relatively well-kept, in comparison to the refuse pile the bailey had become. Her feet made squishing noises as she stepped over the rotten floor-rushes, and the dust that pervaded in the air made her noise wrinkle. Up on the walls, ratty, moth-eaten tapestries hung, testaments to a more glorious time when Stonekeep was still under Rihad’s control. Light filtering in through a ceiling window revealed, at the far end of the hall upon the dais, the keep’s broken throne.

Walking up the center of the hall, flanked by old tables, Neira took in the desecrated majesty of the ruined hall. Although she had been there before, her hideout being beneath the keep in the tunnels below, she could never get used to seeing the remains of the Hall; reminding her of fleeting nature of civilization, and unstoppable march of barbarity.

Passing through the hall, and into the kitchen, Neira made her way to the back of the keep, where the remains of a great steel gate lay broken, and the way down into the tunnels that the goblins had once erupted from lay open to her. Grinning, Neira cast a light spell above her head and descended into the dark depths beneath Stonekeep.

Oooh, more more!

I'm really liking where you are going with this. As I'm reading this, I keep thinking of the scene from LOTR where Frodo and Sam go into the orc keep. The description of the bailey certainly reminds me of the condition of the guard tower where Sam rescued Frodo from those nasty orcs!

Yet it is different enough that I'm not looking for those two, but rather holding my breath as Niera moves through Stonekeep.

SGM!

I love your description of the goblin-infested castle. You give the castle the kind of size and scope lacking in the games. It really does feel like a massive fortress. Especially good are you descriptions of the squalor the goblins live in, especially the stench!

Neira certainly has a dark side. At first I wanted to laugh at the goblin stuck in the barrel and passed out. But that turned very stark as Neira reveled in killing it. Yes, it is a goblin, and would kill and eat her without blinking an eye, but still, I found that scene chilling. You have taken a stock action of heroic fiction (slaying goblins), and turned it into something very gripping and personal.

this was the ugliest individual since Boethia made Malacath
A wonderful setting-friendly phrase!


nits:
I was sure there would be less goblins!Listening closely
Looks like the goblins ate the space between your exclamation mark and Listening.


Listening closely until she heard the fainting sound of a goblin sentry moving away from his position above her
This makes is seem like the goblin is fainting? I think you are looking for something like fading, or receding.


pressing herself up against the crenulated rampart,
That is crenelated.


and they had taken to building ramshackle hut
I think you meant huts?


As she entered the shadowed doorway, her eyes took some time to adjust to the shadowed interior of the tower.
A repetition of shadowed here. You might just change one to something like dark, or dim.

How did you sneak this by me? Oooh, I see Neira has a bit of a dark side, and is hanging on by a thread in this scene. This one line is very telling:



I agree with SageRosa, that scene was chilling! You have the ability of twisting a scene from what could be an ordinary killing into the depths of the macabre.

Excellent chapter, Awesome Write!

@ HER: Danke. There were a few more things I wanted to do with Neira in Stonekeep before I moved over to the chapter I'm working on now, but I felt it best if I just ended the chapter there. So to hear your kind words makes me glad I ended it there

@ Subrosa: I won't lie, this chapter was a minor attempt to look at Neira a little better, and I had a feeling her...odd feelings might shock a few people.

@ mALX: I have awesome sneaking powers!

Anyway, the next chapter should be up tommorrow, and I'm taking a slight break right now. While doing so, I went looking for music that, to me, represents a few of the characters, as well as the story as a whole. Most of them are from Daggerfall, albeit updated by other musicians. Though other songs from other places might show up.

A Champion's Journey

Jagar Tharn

Ernand Leoriane

Ravenna - Haven't found a good one yet

Neira Hlallu

Ria Silmane - Haven't found a good one yet

Great soundtracks !!! I actually put music to my characters too, and play it while writing their parts in the story.

Chapter Eighteen

The skies above Rihad were turning dim as Ernand and Ravena arrived back at the city from their information-gathering. Though there were dark clouds in the sky, Ernand still shielded his eyes as he looked up to seek the position of Magnus.

“Hey, Ravena?”

Bulling her way through the crowds of peasants passing through the gates of the city, the bounty hunter took a brief second to swirl her head around to grunt at her companion.

Scowling at her, Ernand continued. “Don’t you think it’s getting a little dark? It’s not long past noon, and those clouds don’t look friendly.”

The Breton watched as Ravena spat on the ground, and twirled to face him, an unfriendly and mocking grin pasted on her face. “What is it, Ernand? Afraid of a little rain?”

“Gods no,” Ernand snarled back, “But the temperature is already dropping, and I don’t want to get caught in the rain when it’s almost freezing!”

“Wear a cloak. That is what they’re made for; to keep you warm.”

Ernand made haste to follow as Ravena turned on her heel and continued on her way through Rihad’s gate and up the street. The citizens of the city were out in force now, and Ernand felt as if they were utterly oblivious to the gathering clouds above.



Ernand grimaced at the mangy beast standing in front of him. He had seen mules before, on farms in High Rock. Stout, and sturdy beasts; cheaper than a horse and able to do twice the work, but apparently Hammerfell did not have a good history when it came to mules, for this shabby creature looked careworn, and had seen too many years.

The Breton turned his head at the sudden burst of profanity, and wasn’t surprised to see his companion berating the merchant for, as Ravena colorfully put it, “putting a price tag on a pile of dung”. Ernand laughed in spite of himself, and looked at the other mounts the merchant was selling; powerful, well-bred whites and blacks, far exceeding his price range.

Damnation, he thought as he looked at one of the steeds stamping the ground with a clean hoof, Even before Valenwood I couldn’t have afforded one of these horses. I guess that’s the West; only the rich, their servants, or the lucky have a mount around here. For everyone else, his eyes moved back to the mule, There’s that.

Turning away from the sorry mule, Ernand moved over to behind Ravenna, putting a calming arm on her shoulder. She didn’t look particularly pleased to have it there, but she did stop her tirade, snarling at the merchant as she turned on her heel and stalked out of the stables, leaving the Breton to deal with negotiations.

“Oh, thank you, Good Master,” the Redguard merchant bowed deeply to the Breton, “I thought that monstrous woman was going to take my head off! Did you see how she was fingering her blade? Most dreadful!”

“She might have,” Ernand muttered as he looked out the stables, his eyes finding the bounty hunter tending roughly to her own horse. “Look, I don’t need a prize-winning mount, but neither will I stoop so low as to purchase that,” he extended his arm to point at the mule in the corner. “You have to have something that is of a more reasonable price.”

The merchant, now standing upright again, cupped his chin, and his eyes went downcast in thought. “If you don’t have the money, I can’t sell you a horse,” he said after a few moments, and Ernand’s heart dropped. “However,” he continued, “For five hundred drakes, I’ll sell you one of the camels I keep at the West Gate. It was ill-thought venture of mine to use those camels for desert trading, but that didn’t pan out. I’m losing money just on their upkeep.”

“A camel? I don’t know how to ride a camel.”

“No, no,” the merchant was now very earnest, “It is very easy. Almost like riding a horse. No difference!”

Quirking an eyebrow, Ernand regarded the merchant with no small amount of skepticism. “I’ve seen those beasts before,” he said after a short pause, “And I have seen people ride them. It looks nothing like riding a horse. Not to mention their foul temperament! No, I will not purchase the camel.”

The merchant shrugged his shoulders, and now seemed willing to abandon the sale entirely. Ernand, however, knew that traveling to Stonekeep on foot could take hours, and he didn’t have many options open to him. Sighing, the Breton reached down to his belt and unhooked his pouch of coins. Digging around in it, under the now alert gaze of the merchant, he pulled out forty septims, and dropped them into the merchants outstretched palms.

“I’ll take the mule,” Ernand muttered dejectedly, “At least I know how to ride one of those.”

“Good, good,” the merchant said in an absent tone as he fingered the gold coins greedily, “Take the beast and go.”

Taking a lead from the wall, Ernand moved over to the mule in the corner, who by then had flopped onto his behind, as if it knew it was leaving the comfort of the stables and was trying everything it could to avoid that fate. Grimacing, Ernand tied the lead around the mule’s neck, and with a strong pull, brought the mule up onto its legs.

“Come on, you damnable beast,” Ernand growled through gritted teeth as he pulled at rope tied to the immobile mule, “Come on!” He continued his futile tugging for several minutes before he felt the rope being torn from his hands, and he looked to see Ravenna, annoyance and anger burning on her face, with the lead. With a mighty pull, the mule let out a yelp and scurried towards Ravenna, who shoved the lead back into Ernand’s hands.

“Stop mucking about! If we’re to be on the road by the time the rain comes, we need to leave now!”

Ernand watched as Ravenna once again left the stable and mounted up onto her own horse, and as she wheeled the steed around, she looked at him and pointed towards the north. “You catch up,” she called as she propelled her horse into a slow trot, “Or stay behind. I don’t really care which.” Finished, she spurred her horse faster, and sped off in a cloud of dust.

Rejected, Ernand did nothing for a few minutes but think, How am I supposed to penetrate Fang Lair, let alone rescue the Emperor, when I cannot even get a mule to move! Dammit, Ria, you chose the wrong person!. However, he stopped that line of thought when he felt a nudging at his side, and he looked down to see the mule pushing again him.

“What? You want to be like that horse? Ha,” Ernand let out a mirthless laugh, “Somehow I doubt your stubby legs could carry you, let alone me, that fast.” But the mule continued to nudge him, and Ernand finally relented. “Fine, but if your back breaks, it’s your own fault.”

Swinging a leg over the mule’s back, he lifted himself onto the animal, and he was surprised to see that the beast didn’t seem to mind the weight, and with a light tap at its sides, it began to follow the path left by Ravenna’s more powerful horse, its stubby legs crashing furiously against the ground.

Well, Ernand thought as he balanced himself further on the mule, I’m surprised. And here I thought it would die when I got atop it! Well then, Gods willing, now I’ll be able to get my horse back, and this little guy will serve quite ably as a packmule.



Rain was coming down in a torrent as Ernand and Ravenna rode along the north road into the mountains. Magnus was utterly blocked out by the dark clouds, and the wind had picked up, and it was to the point where Ernand could barely see fifty feet ahead of himself.

“Ravenna!” he yelled out to the woman slightly ahead of him, who seemed to be doing just as bad as he, “We have to stop. I’m soaked clean through, and I don’t think I can take this much longer!”

“Toughen up!” he heard the Redguard call back, “I’ve been through worse. Stonekeep isn’t much further anyway.”

Damn woman, he thought angrily as he spurred the mule under him in an attempt to keep up with Ravenna’s horse, She is going to get us killed, if not out here, then certainly in that goblin-infested palace. Ernand was brought out of his thought when, after rounding a slight bend, he caught his first sight of Stonekeep. Even though it was still a good distance away, the towering edifice of the keep itself was enough to penetrate the dark and the rain. Even though it was far inferior, the palace conjured up images of the Imperial Palace in the Breton’s mind.

“There it is,” Ernand heard Ravenna yell, and she dropped back closer to him, “If I know goblins, and I do, they will be hold up in that keep, or in their own trashy dwellings to protect themselves from the rain.”

“What? So we’ll just waltz right in through the front gate?”

He saw through the rain Ravenna’s bright smile, and his heart sank some that his suspicious was confirmed.

“It’s as if you’re trying to get me killed.”

“Going through the gate will be twice as easy as going over the walls.”

“Yes, and twice as dangerous.”

“So?”

With Ravenna’s apparent disregard for safety, Ernand simply dropped the subject. At the least, he was sure she would go barreling through the gatehouse first. And when she falls, I won’t have to deal with this, and I’ll just take her horse.

It was still another hour before the pair arrived at the walls of the Stonekeep. Dismounting, they both led their mounts along by hand. Shielded on their right from the wind by the wall, they now only had to contend with the torrential rain. Fortunately, Ravenna assured him, this only provided camouflage from goblin eyes. Ernand didn’t quite believe her, but the rain was certainly preferable to a clear day, when goblin sentries could have seen them coming from a mile away.

They moved along the wall for a few minutes before they arrived at the ruined gatehouse. The portcullis was gone, and the great wooden doors were standing wide open. Ernand watched how, after she gave him the reins to her horse, she snuck forward and poked her head into the gatehouse, before finally disappearing into it, motioning for Ernand to follow.

The interior of the gatehouse was dry, albeit terribly foul. Piles of trash, bones, and half-eaten rabbits intermixed with droppings and ash from fire pits.

“We will leave the mounts here,” Ravenna said as she took the reins back from Ernand, leading the horse to a set of stalls that lined the south wall of the gatehouse, “We can’t very well take them with us.”

Ernand couldn’t fault her logic, and he followed her example with his mule. After shutting the stall door, Ernand was then alerted when he heard the ring of steel leaving scabbard, and he whirled around to see that Ravenna had drawn her sword. Following her example, the Breton wrenched his scimitar out of its scabbard.

Hearing Ravenna whisper fiercely, “Give me some light,” Ernand raised his hand in the air and muttered a few words, and a ball of green light shot through the air and hit the ceiling, bathing the gatehouse with soft luminescence. The spell served to reveal the cause of Ravenna’s alarm, two goblins, caked in filth, and passed out on the floor near the wall opposite Ravenna and himself.

They didn’t seem alerted to their presence, and even Ernand knew that was strange. Goblins were not heavy sleepers, and his eyes sought out what could make these creatures sleep so. Ravenna, apparently, had no such need to know, and the Breton could only watch as she advanced towards the slumbering monster. Sword firmly in hand, she wasted no time in thrusting her blade down onto their heads, splitting their skulls open.

“You don’t waste any time, do you?” Ernand asked, his mouth quirking into a grin.

“Ha,” Ravenna let out a quiet laughed as she cleaned her sword using the rags the goblins had worn for clothes, “At least I know you aren’t squeamish. I was sure you’d raise an issue over that.”

“Over goblins? Gods forbid I ever get that soft!”

Safety restored, the pair once again turned their attention toward the task at hand: Stonekeep. The door to the bailey was still intact, although covered in small holes. Fortunately, the holes were large enough to look through.

Lowering himself to his knees, Ernand looked through one of the holes. He couldn’t clearly make out the bailey on the other side, the wind and rain obscuring his vision, but he could see the numerous ugly huts that stood out against the dull gray of Stonekeep’s walls. Ravenna’s eyes, however, were sharper, and her quick intake of breath made the Breton somewhat nervous.

“What? What is it?”

She did not answer him directly, asking, “Detecting life. Do you know a spell that can do that?”

“No,” Ernand answered, shaking his head, “I don’t. It’s not something I ever thought I would need.”

“Pah, you Breton’s are useless!”

Ernand shrugged, not offended by the Redguard’s scorn. Intrigued, however, he ventured to ask, “What do you see out there?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I see no smoke coming out of those huts, so either the goblins are all holed up in the keep, or they simply aren’t here.”

Getting back to his feet, Ernand brushed off the dirt from his pants, and raised his sword. “Perhaps we should risk a dash across the bailey,” he said, grasping the heavy door handle, “It’s better than holing up in here; gods know how long this stench is going to cling to my clothes.”

Ravenna nodded, and together the Redguard and Breton pulled the gatehouse door open. They were instantly assaulted by wind and rain as they got their first real look at Stonekeep’s bailey. Not bothering to take in the scenery, the pair rushed out. While Ravenna saw no need to cover her head, Ernand took care to raise the hood of his cloak, but by the time they had made it to steps of the keep leading into the Great Hall, both were soaked.

“So where do you think your mark is,” Ernand whispered as he lowered his hood and ran a hand through his matted blonde hair, “This place is quite large. It could take hours to cover every nook and cranny.”

She didn’t answer him at once, and Ernand watched as she stepped further into the Hall. In fact, she didn’t seem to be listening at all. She had lowered her sword, and her face took on a blank look as she stared at the moth-eaten tapestries of by-gone glory. Puzzled, the Breton followed her, his own sword ready, and the words for spells present in his mind.

It took the pair a few minutes to walk the length of the hall, until they arrived at the dais. Ernand noticed how Ravenna’s face hardened as she looked down at the broken throne, where the monarchs of Rihad once sat.

“Goblins,” she said suddenly, shocking Ernand enough that he flinched. Ravenna didn’t seem to notice. “Terrible monsters. All they do is destroy. I’m sure this once a great palace, and now look at it.”

Her voice was toneless, and Ernand began to feel a little uneasy. “Yes,” he began haltingly, “They are terrible. High Rock has had its own share of problems with them. But we aren’t here to hunt goblins, Ravenna, we’re here to capture a convict accused of murder and escape from prison, and,” his mouth quirked some, “horse theft.” A light noise echoed in the dismal Hall, and Ernand instantly wheeled about to look back the way they had come. He saw nothing, however, and he lowered his sword. His heart beating furiously, he turned back to Ravenna, saying, “We should leave the Hall. We’re like sitting ducks in here.”

Ravenna seemed to rouse herself from her thoughts, and agreed with a nod of her head. Together, with the Redguard leading, they moved silently through Stonekeep. To Ernand, all of the corridors looked the same, and it wasn’t long before he got turned around. However, he noticed that Ravenna didn’t seem to have that problem, and each turn looked carefully chosen.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Ernand asked as they entered a long hallway lined with shuttered windows.

“Rogues like to have one entrance and two exits. I guarantee you that our quarry didn’t go up into one of the towers.” Ravenna stopped speaking when her foot came into contact with a rough bit of the floor. “Damnation,” she muttered, as she titled her head to call to Ernand, “Give me light, I can’t see a thing in here.”

Obeying, Ernand muttered the incantation and extended his hand, and once again a ball of green light illuminated a dark place. “Heh,” he snorted as he lowered his arm, “Part of me was expecting to see the whole floor strewn with bones and body parts.”

Visible to him now, he could see the scowl that crossed his companion’s dusky face as she muttered, “You think too much.”

Ernand frowned, but raised no objection and continued to follow behind the Redguard. “So,” he said after some moments of silence, “You said she would not have gone up into one of the towers. And we’ve scoured this whole floor here, so where else could she have gone?”

“The goblin tunnels, most likely.”

His face blanched when he heard Ravenna identify their destination, and he began to stammer, “The tunnels? Is she mad?”

“Most likely,” she began, “But Neira’s choice of haven does have some logic to it. Goblins wouldn’t return to their tunnels if they have a whole palace to live in, and they also provide her with a back exit to gods know where if she needs it.”

“And we’re to follow her into a death trap,” Ernand sputtered, his nerve starting to fail him.

Ravenna reply was characteristic, and with a deep growl she replied, “If you’d rather leave, be my guest, but I’m going down to find her!”

Ravenna voice echoed through the corridors, and a chill went down Ernand’s spine. Adjusting his scaled vest to a tighter degree, he raised his hand and muttered a few words, and the spell of light that had lit the hall was dispelled.

“Why’d you do that,” Ravenna said in a rising voice, “I can’t see a thing now!”

Shushing her, Ernand halted his steps to listen. He could hear a small scratching sound through the walls, and a tapping sound behind them, along with the sound of metal hitting stone. Whirling, Ernand raised his right hand, and with the words of magick spoken, another spell of light shot through the darkness towards the beginning of the corridor. The ball of light hit something, and exploded, revealing a trio of armed goblins covering their sensitive eyes from the light.

He heard Ravenna spit out a curse behind him, and he, too, felt like swearing. Instead, he back up some until he was beside Ravenna, and he asked, “So what is the plan?”

Taking only a few moments to think, Ravenna turned her head to Ernand, “Do you know spells from the College of Destruction?”

Ernand nodded.

“Fry them, freeze them, I don’t care. Just get rid of them. Our cover is blown anyway.”

Nodding again, Ernand moved forward a few feet, and sheathed his sword. By then, the three goblins had recovered their eyesight, and were rapidly advancing towards the Breton and Redguard, screaming in the foul tongue. Raising his arms and extending his point and pinky fingers on both hands, the Breton summoned his magick, saying under his breath, “Csavarok a villám,” and small bands of electricity began to spark between his outstretched fingers. The energy built until the sparks became a clear stream, and the energy was great enough that Ernand released the spell.

Two magical bolts of lightning launched from the Breton’s hands, streaking through the air forty feet until they struck one of the goblins, sending the monster flying backwards until it slammed onto the hard floor, twitching as the electricity continued to run through its body.

The other two goblins halted their advance, slightly perturbed by this display of civilized magick. Ernand took the chance offered to him, and sent two balls of light towards the monsters, making them illuminated targets in the shadowed corridor. Behind him, he heard Ravenna whispering an oath before she raised her sword and charged past him.

I liked Ernand's musing about horses being a rare expense in western Tamriel. A nice bit of world-building. Likewise, his travails with the merchant, and the mule, were good bits of reality that make your story believable. Gandalf and Aragorn never had mundane problems like that! The fact that Ernand does paints him as a real person, rather than fantasy hero.

And when she falls, I won’t have to deal with this, and I’ll just take her horse.
I like how Ernand thinks!

A very clever use of the light spell by Ernand at the end, blinding the goblins with it. A very rich description of Ernand's lightning bolts as well!


Nits:
the palace conjured up images of the Imperial Palace in the Breton’s mind
Perhaps you meant the place here?


they will be hold up in that keep
In this context, that would be holed.

The interaction between them, especially Ernand's grousing to himself - and the priceless scene with the Redguard selling the horses - Awesome Write!! What a great chapter !!!