Nice part, there were some great little details there as Acadian mentioned. Some of the images worked really well too:


Those lines really worked for me, the change in tone at the end worked with the character of Pashan.

The manhunt promises to be interesting, as is Aradroth. Showing the bit of emotion in him makes it far easier to empathise with him, though so far among you're cast of well rounded characters Dar-Jee is the only one who hasn't got it coming and he's hardly good - lots of dark characters work to make a foreboding atmosphere. I can't wait to see it all kick off...

Everything Acadian said goes for me too! In Pashan it just feels like you have created a formidable and implacable foe for Aradroth. His brooding charisma just sings in this chapter. Likewise the setting of the timeframe gives depth and meaning to the world that surrounds your motley cast of characters.

‘Heavy sits the head that wears the crown’ – In the space of a few well-placed descriptive cues and a some lines of dialogue you present a Marius Caro with meat on his bones, and a sea of troubles weighing down his slumped shoulders. This story gets better with every post!

MORE! NOW!!

I thought this paragraph described an assassin's life so accurately...it was Foxy-ish! I agree with Destri, this gets better with each chapter! You ROCK Wolf!!!

haute ecole rider -Thanks! My goal when I started writing this fan-fic was to have an expanded version of the Permanent Retirement quest in the DB. It seemed like a cool quest at the time that I completed it and I am happy enough with the way it has turned out. The natural follow-on was to have a manhunt for the assassin and it also allowed me to (hopefully!) put some building tension into the storyline.

SubRosa - So Aradroth will kill Pashan, eh? We shall see about that! During my early days of D&D I had tremendous fun killing off many a Playing Character, so believe me when I say that Aradroth had best be on his toes in the coming chapters. Ha! Thanks for your support for the dark atmosphere in my story. I do not have the talent a write a well rounded story like the other writers at Chorrol, but the brooding stuff seems to come easily enough. Crazy. It must be me.

Acadian - I really appreciate the work that you went to in your last post here brother. Cheers!!
The head of the hunter of heads. I love that line that you have come up with. Brilliant!!
The Pashan and Count scene helped to set the stage for the storyline, something that was probably needed. Aradroth could easily just wallow in the swamps of Black Marsh without somebody to give him depth and direction, and it was best if his antagonist is the one to force him into shape! I have plans for two more characters to appear soon that Aradroth can also lean upon.

Olen - Pashan does seem to be a cool character to set against Aradroth. The deadly Captain of the Head-hunters has alot going on beneath the surface. He will be desperate to keep the Count happy and there is the death of his family that will ride over everything. Thanks for your continued support.

Destri Melarg -Thanks brother!! I really wish I could write at the speed of Haute, Rosa or mALX, but it is not going to happen. I feel that my writing style is like a VW that bops along in the slow lane of the freeway. LOL. Oh well, such is life. The end of this fan-fic (around two dozen chapters) is already planned, so please be rest assured that I shall get there eventually.

mALX - Welcome back oh mALX. It is great to see you here. Make sure you get plenty of rest before you tackle the other fan-fics, please?!? They are huge stories, not like this little puppy. I suppose the great thing about my writing is that you can go away for 6 months and find that I have only written 4 chapters, ha ha!!


**


CHAPTER 8 –


Vance Seer passed through the murmuring crowd like a whisper. A small man with inquisitive eyes, he moved with the lightness of a hare as he slipped between the numerous housewives and beast folk of Leyawiin. Dressed in a dark cloak that only allowed a few tuffs of coarse hair to poke out at the buttoned up cuffs, he blended smoothly into the rolling background around him.

The voices all about spoke of fear and death, a siren’s call that reached deep into his heart. The tone was frantic and breathless, like the bleating of sheep from a closed up pen. It brought an involuntary flush to his face.

Pausing at the edge of destroyed marketplace he scanned the area. Sweating workmen could be seen moving in all directions, carrying lengths of timber and numerous tools as they rushed to rebuild the wooden structure that Dar Jee had brought down in his moment of madness.

Hammers banged and saws threw wood chips into the humid air.

Vance was not impressed.

It had looked so much better with the bodies and the blood soaking into the greedy soil. There was always something poetic about the lifeblood of a town flapping on the ground like a broken bird. It was a fragile moment of rare beauty. He knew that it would occupy his mind for weeks to come.

His nose sniffed the air as he watched the labourers sweat away in the morning sun. They were destroying everything, bringing order to the lovely chaos and he couldn’t help but feel a maudlin tear slip from his eye. Thankfully it was not only his memory that embraced him, the scent was all around him as well, keeping him alive.

It was the shroud that hung over everything. It was in the ground, it was in the walls, it was an anticipation of what the world might become.

His only regret was that nobody else adored it.


**


The sun burned from behind the curtain of mist that shrouded the land. Everything was quiet and dark. Overhead the birds sat quietly in their branches and gazed down suspiciously at the Wood Elf beneath them.

Sitting beside the damp fire in a tight bundle of rags the assassin did not even notice them. Brushing back a mop of brown hair from his eyes the Bosmer was simply relieved to see that his work was almost done. Placing the last green colored vial of poison onto the ground he only glanced up sharply at his surroundings when the single cry of the White-throated Treecreeper called from the branches above.

Wiping his stained fingers upon his greaves he rose stiffly to his feet and collected his pack together. The bird was a reminder that it was time to go. Like everything these days part of him was keen to hit the open road but another side knew what sort of pain the trip would bring. The recovery sessions were beginning to take longer and longer and he was never one that could fall back on the restorative skills of the healers. The Nine just didn’t seem to see the world the same way that he did.

Muttering under his breath he kicked a handful of soil over the remains of the fire and gathered his poison and arrows together.

Pushing at a brisk early pace he soon felt the miles quickly disappear under the soles of his worn boots. Bravil came and went and the Green Road swung towards the Niben Valley and through the forests north of his home town.

The morning felt fresh, the land alive and awake. Drops of rain lay cupped in the upturned tree ferns, a vacant reminder of the overnight rain that had renewed the overland forest. To the east the vast expanse of the Upper Niben stretched as smooth as a mill pond. Following the path down into a gully the sunlight around the assassin sliced the green foliage of the forest into neat edible strips.

A woman’s voice sounded from a rise in the road ahead.

“Your life is mine!” she screamed at him.

Aradroth looked up. The sunlight caught her metal armor.

A smooth motion pulled the Vampire bow to half tension and he sighted the woman offset.

Quickly pulling the string to full tension the arrow was loosed and the wasp hiss of fletching called out across the crisp morning air. The bandit took the full impact of the glass arrow and was tossed into the air like a doll.

Aradroth ran to the broken body.

The woman was a native of Hammerfell, and was now laying face down and very dead, a long way from home. Blood ran from her broad lips and pooled onto the road beneath her. Placing his bare hand onto the warm skin the assassin spoke a pray of thanks to the Dread Father, a tear of gratitude slipping down his rugged features.

Bending down he gave the women a rough inspection, checking for signs of treasure. A small piece of coarse muslin, a tooth-comb, several lock picks and a packet that contained two small pills of moon-sugar appeared within his hand. Smiling at the irony of the comb he tossed it all aside.

Removing a dagger from his boot he spent the next five minutes digging the arrow from the body.

He held it up to the streaming light. The head was damaged beyond repair but that didn’t stop the assassin from giving a low whistle. The bodkin tip had penetrated the mithril much further than any other arrow he had used before. It really surprised him. One of his bugbears was trying to hit that weak spot on the opponent’s armor. Perhaps those days might be a thing of the past.

The next time that he returned to Bravil he must give a word of thanks to Buffy.

His deadly friend was, yet again, right on the mark.


**

The camp had been set for the night. Tired and hungry from the punishing ride during the day Vance was glad to have the solid feel of the ground beneath. His muscles ached from places on his body that he never even knew existed, and he would have given anything to be back in Leyawiin with a warm bath and a cheap hussy. Trailing at the back of the group he was one of the last to arrive.

Heading forward with a pronounced limp he pulled the dark cowl low against his face, shielding himself from the torchlight.

A dozen large shapes appeared out of the mist. They were phantom creatures with dark hides and rolling white eyes. Long plumes of breath streamed from their broad nostrils. The head-hunters around them reminded him of a scholarly convention of necromancers, silent and haunting as they tended to their business of unloading the packs.

Passing through the group the Imperial could feel his nose become ticklish. He did his best to ignore it as he headed across the center of the pentagram.

“What have we got, boss?” he asked.

The man he addressed stood at the edge of the camp. Silhouetted against the night sky he stared out into the pitch blackness. His reply had the calm edge of a knife.

“There is nothing out there. The scouts have reported that the land ahead is quiet, almost too quiet. There is no goblins, no wolves, nothing.”

“How long will it be until we arrive?” Vance inquired.

Pashan turned to the side. “I am hoping tomorrow afternoon. I should get some better feed back in the morning. Make sure you get some good sleep tonight. Please be available for the early meeting.”

“I look that bad, do I?” The small man grinned and ran his hand through his dark, greasy hair. “Horse riding has unfortunately never been my forte. Give me a swamp, a blade and an Argonian any day.”

Pashan smiled and looked back at the camp. The light had thrown a sharp angle across his gaunt face. It was a disturbing sight.

“I hear what you say, brother. Hopefully I won’t have to drag that Bosmer’s sorry carcass all the way back home. I hate getting spurs in my horse.”

The rodent-man gave a quiet chuckle. “It is an empty and wild land we are going to. The assassin must really want to avoid capture if he is staying out there.”

Pashan nodded. “Yes, and he is probably cowering under the ground like the weasel that he is.”

Vance considered the idea for a moment. “Just remember, though, that we are still hunting a member of the Dark Brotherhood,” whispered the small Imperial. “In all likelihood it will very much depend on how many resources he has access to. The last thing we would want is him to be hunting us.”

Pashan turned back to the faceless side of night. His eyes were devoid of passion.

“That is why we have strength in numbers, my little friend. One elf cannot hope to stand against a score of head-hunters.”

The small man turned away. “Let us hope that you are right.”

Good to see a continuation to this, certainly I think Aradroth is going to need all his skills if he survives this...

I enjoyed the way you painted the headhunters, very brooding and dark. The comparason to necromancers and teh mist set the atmosphere very well. It does rather make me wonder if there is more to them than we know.

Still the coming fight should be fun.

I liked the slower pacing here - a nice interlude after the excitement of the previous few chapters. Yet it is a great piece to build up a sense of foreboding of what is to come. It's the variation in the pacing that keeps me stuck on this story.

Further character development is much appreciated here - it makes me care about what is going to happen next. Taking the time to describe places, minor events (bandit attack), and emotions really bring this to life for me.

One nit:
Did you mean tufts?

Oooh, I love this, Wolf!

In the first part it was neat to meet the mousey Vance - what a wonderfully evocative picture of him you painted. What stood out here, and in the next scene was the way you brought the steam and humidity of Leyawiin and the surrounding Black Marsh to life. I almost hear the buzzing insects and feel sweat running down my face.

It was great to catch up to our favorite assassin again, surviving and crafting poisons in the swamp. You rendered a beautifully clever portrayal of his traveling north from Leyawiin. We are left wondering about his 'recovery sessions'.

Great bowcraft - it does indeed seem that his chats with Buffy have paid off. Buffy the Busybody is not optimistic she can change the assassin, but the fact that he realizes he has a friend in Bravil is a start. Buffy thanks you so much for this tribute!

Finally, we have a foreboding and mysterious swampy meeting of the head hunters. We are left anxiously waiting for more as we wonder about the head hunters' plans.

You continue to be a master of evocative description, my friend. I love the details you weave in, and the clever way in which you do so.

Oops: Did you mean 'prayer' here?

Vance is another interesting character. I loved his inner-thoughts as he walked through Leyawiin. You certainly do these homicidal types quite well!

he moved with the lightness of a hare
This is a particularly vivid description!

I found Aradroth's musings about recovery, and the pain of the journey, very intriguing. What is wrong with our favorite Bosmer assassin? Something physical? Or is it the attack of a pesky conscience? I cannot wait to see more!

nits:
You have many long sentences where a comma is needed for the reader to "pause for breath". For example:
The recovery sessions were beginning to take longer and longer, and he was never one that could fall back on the restorative skills of the healers.
Try reading outloud. The places you want to pause to take a breath are usually those that you should put in a comma.

Woo Hoo !!!! A Buffy Tribute! Aradroth has a Khajiit admirer too, he just hasn't met her yet, lol.

I am curious to se what role Vance plays amongst the headhunters. He strikes me as someone specifically attuned to destruction magic, but maybe I’m reading too much into things.

Pashan’s demeanor in this chapter was almost the opposite of how I pictured him in the last. Why do I get the feeling that his overconfidence is going to bite him in the british boat? He is, after all, chasing a member of the Dark Brotherhood who has the benefit of a several day head start and the option to engage in battle on ground of his own choosing. The scene where he is mixing his poisons made me think that those headhunters are looking suspiciously like the ten little Indians! I think things are about to get interesting for Aradroth, soon he's going to need a much longer 'recovery session'.

Bad doggie for somehow forgetting to comment! (Fixed now!)

ETA- Looking at the juxtaposition of "doggie" and "Fixed now" above, I have a sudden desire to cross my legs protectively.

As always, your descriptive style is positively breath-taking. The details you provide put us right there in the moment with the characters.

Decentius and Caelia as “good cop, bad cop?” I would say rather, “Bad cop, worse cop.” She is the more frightening because of her civilized veneer and matter-of-fact approach to mayhem. “Maybe you had nothing to do with it, but that doesn’t matter. We have you and we are going to torture you- because we can.” That is true institutional psychopathy.

Pashan is chillingly brought to life- puts me in mind of Jubal Early from Firefly. Which everyone here should see if they haven’t- /end shameless promotion.



One day, I hope to be able to write imagery like that!

Nit:

After killing the badly misguided bandit, you have-“Bending down he gave the women…”

Unless Aradroth is seeing double, it should be “woman.”

Seeing double...or giving several women a taste of his "rough inspection"...Go Aradroth!!

Olen-Thanks for the kind words. The head-hunters seemed the perfect opposition to Aradroth. Let us hope that one darkness can defeat the other!

haute ecole rider- You are correct in your observation. It is hard to not just write combat and fast pace all the time. Sometimes a slower speed is very much needed in one's writing. Thanks!

Acadian- Thanks brother! Like you, the Nibenay will always be my home. In fact, Aradroth as a game character rarely ventured outside the mist shrouded trees and swamps of Bravil-Leyawiin. The golden grass of the Colovian Highlands never seemed to interest him. Only the DB missions made him leave his shell.

SubRosa- Lol. It does seem strange that I can write the homicidal ones! What does that say about me...Too much Poe in me, I guess!?

mALX-So great to have you back after the recent events you experienced. I really hope that you have a lovely Xmas with your kids. Cheers! Maxical & Aradroth- I like the sound of that. Stay tuned!!

Destri Melarg-Hopefully the character of Pashan will develop. He always reminds me of the SS in occupied Europe. Neatly dressed and prone to horrible acts at a moment's notice. He is an overconfident person, in the same way the SS were seperate to the standing German army. It makes the person think and act differently, I guess.

Treydog-Thanks for dropping back in. The great thing about my writing is that I post only half a dozen posts a year- so it is easy to catch back up! I really appreciate your comments about the 'descriptive style.' I have no idea how to write properly- I just do it for fun!

**


CHAPTER 9 -


The ceremony had begun.

Mist swirled around a dozen misshapen forms, blanketing the length of the robes that trailed around the shrouded figures. Heads were bent forward in devotion, and each one leaned upon his kindred brother in absolute synergy. No sound came from the gathering. There was no chanting or screaming at the sky above. Each man simply waited and listened.

Heading up the incline Vance Seer moved slowly towards the group. The gathering of death was no surprise to him. It was to be expected from his brothers. They lived and breathed torture, the end game always resulting in death. It was the sleek, folded wings that sat against the raven, ready to fly at a moment’s notice.

Stepping aside the head-hunters allowed Vance inside their congregation. Like everything else it was done in complete silence.

A face loomed out of the mist. It was followed by the eyes of a wraith. Eyes that were narrowed and very mean.

The small Imperial shrugged helplessly, his skin suddenly cold. “Sorry, Captain. I have yet to master the art of sleeping on the land. The morning sun here never seems to burn through the mist.”

Pashan stepped forward, his boots making a soft squeak in the mossy soil. It sounded like the breathless wheeze of a tiny mouse. Reaching down he collected a rough drawn map from a fallen tree trunk.

“The meeting started thirty minutes ago. Please don’t do that again. It would have been a shame to have to leave you behind. Who knows what fey creatures inhabit the forests of this region.”

“Yes, my master,” Vance replied softly.

Pashan’s cold eyes continued to linger over his lieutenant as he turned the map. “This is the area of the camp site. The assassin is holed up at the foot of the Valus Mountains. We are planning to descend upon him swiftly and quietly, and take him in the early morning. Do you have any thoughts you might share with us before we leave?”

The rodent man stared at the map and wrinkled up his nose.

“Flexibility is any fugitive’s greatest strength,” he replied, “and a fugitive burdened by a rigid plan makes easy quarry of himself. We must be prepared for any eventuality. I am sure that the Dark Brotherhood assassin will be ready to flee into the mountains at the first sign of trouble. His is bound to use the heights to thwart the advantage of our horses. And do not discount the possibility that he will have companions. The Brotherhood is well known for its circle of contacts across the realm.”

Pashan considered him. “Yes, you are correct. If you were here earlier you would already know that I have planned to seal off the escape route to the east. A line of head-hunters will come in from the far side to assist our attack. I will take note of the companions, but I have no fear of that. He will know that a gathering this far out will attract attention. He will instead be trying to lay low.”

Vance nodded.

Pashan turned to the group around him. “Are there any other questions?”

Vance couldn’t help but wonder where the questions would come from. So he put up his hand.

“Attacking the camp site at sunset would be our best strategy,” he added, “Coming from the west we would have the setting sun at our back.”

Pashan’s nostrils flared slightly. “I cannot afford to wait until then,” the Captain replied tersely, “Time is the one ally that I will not concede to the assassin anymore. The mist will be sufficient to mask our numbers and our approach.”

Impatient footsteps stamped the ground and the sound of metal rang out as a dozen curved blades appeared in black gloved hands.

Pashan turned and quickly headed towards his black gelding. A crooked smile lined his face as he took the reins.

“Okay,” he rasped, “It is time to flush out the rabbit.”


**


Opening the front door the female Wood Elf stepped out onto the muddy ground. Clad in simple buckskin pants and a leather vest, she was the epitome of understated beauty. Tawny, golden hair trailed to the midpoint of her shoulders, pulled back from her forehead by a huntress band. It was crowned by adorning blue feathers and it was the only facet that served as a guide to the womanly beauty beneath.

Around her the sleepy village stretched like a mural, with small, close set wooden buildings clustered tightly underneath a huge expanse of sky above. Grey chimney smoke could be seen rising slowly from some of the structures nearby. Sweeping past Taragail, cold, brisk winds marched around the corner like a legion of ghosts, their formless arms reaching out to knock upon any unlatched shutter.

Heading towards the corral she was surprised to see an informal guard of honor waiting for her.

Three small figures were half-hidden by the shadow of the building.

“Gerich, you know that I never expected you to wait for me!” the woman exclaimed. She glanced at their fur jackets. “It is far too cold out here for you.”

The old man smiled. “Nonsense, my dear. These bones are so old that they cannot feel anything anymore.”

Taragail gave him an impish smile and glanced at the figures behind him. “But what about the boys? Shouldn’t they be inside?”

The man stared down at the waifs around him. Each of the children was staring up at the elf woman with young, innocent eyes.

“Do not worry about them, miss. It is almost time for them to back into the fields anyway. The work shall keep them warm.”

“Well thanks for the gesture Pop; I didn’t really expect anybody to be out here.” She rubbed her hands together and tried to generate some warmth.

“Did you think you could sneak out without any of us seeing you?”

Taragail grinned. “Well, no, of course not.”

The old man chuckled and looked at her appraisingly. “You look different in that outfit. It suits you.”

She tugged at her top. “Thanks.”

“Those robes you normally wear are stuffy things in my opinion. That is a far better look.”

“Yeah, I agree. The smell and creak of the leather brings back many memories of my youth. I am looking forward to being on the road again.”

“Promise me that you will be careful.”

“I can take of myself, Gerich. I spent an entire childhood playing and hunting in the green forests.”

“Yes, I know that,” he replied. “Your skill with the bow is still superior to any of the men in this village. But there are still hushed rumors that Oblivion gates have opened across Cyrodiil. Word has said that daedra roam the land again.”

Taragail gave him what she hoped was a sign of confidence. “That is why I am taking Bones with me. He will keep me safe.”

Stepping out from behind the old man one of the small boys spoke up.

“When are you coming back?” he asked in a soft voice.

Dropping down onto her haunches Taragail stared at him eye to eye.

“My dear little Winston, I hope to return before the summer has come. But unfortunately I have a lot of things to do.”

The boy’s lip began to tremble.

She placed a kiss on his cheek. “Sorry, little one. My family is also important to me. Okay?”

Winston gave a brief nod. “Alright,” he mumbled.

Standing up Taragail gave the old man a loving hug. He felt like a scarecrow in her arms.

“Safe travels then, Taragail. May the road always ride up to meet you,” he said.

“Thanks. Please take care of Martin while I am away. You know how forgetful your lad can be.”

The old man grinned. “You are right there, my girl. Do give my love to the Count.”

She smiled. “Shall do!”

Leaving the group the Wood Elf stepped under the shelter of the corral. A large black horse stared at her with soft, wide eyes. Reaching out she stroked her hand across the broad nose of her black gelding as she checked the saddle. The horse greeted her with a gentle bob of the head.

“Come on, Bones,” she called as she vaulted over the cantle.

Digging in her heels she gave the horse its heading. The majestic animal trotted out through the open gate to a chorus of shouts and waving.

A few moments later they had disappeared around the corner and down the muddy track.

This is full of mysteries! The hunt for Aradroth continues. And who is this elven maiden?

Reading your story is perhaps not the best word. I thing that 'feeling' your story is more accurate. Whether you are wrapping us in the mists of Blackwood, or causing us to stamp our feet in the morning cold, your descriptions continue to bring your writing alive. You are a master at creating amosphere and capturing us within in.

It is wonderful to have you back and sharing Aradroth's story with us!

Yay, Darkness called once more. Thank goodness I picked up the phone.

So the head-hunters are closing in, and we meet a new character. Taragail is an intriguing Bosmer. Another member of the Dark Brotherhood I suspect, given her mention of family. Or perhaps someone literally family? A sister to Aradroth?

It was the sleek, folded wings that sat against the raven, ready to fly at a moment’s notice.
Such a lovely description. Especially delightful after your mention of Poe!

At first I was expecting Bones to be a skeleton! Imagine my surprise when he turned out to be a horse!


nits:
Mist swirled around a dozen misshapen shapes
Shapes feels redundant. Perhaps forms would work better?

I have so missed your ability to weave words into such rich descriptions!!! It is SOOOOO good to have you back up on the boards !!!! Awesome Chapter - intriguing !!!

Oooh I missed this update. Great stuff again, the descriptions are rich and really put me in the place. And as ever there's pleanty of intregue and mystery.

I think that was the first mention of oblivion gates opening too, this looks to be an interesting new development.

And now the net is tight around Aradroth I wonder how that little meeting will go... </hint>

Acadian-Thanks for your kind words on the feeling aspect of the story. I knew that my story would have to be centered on the Nibenay. Man I love that land, the rain and mist shrouded trees, the evilness of Leyawiin lurking behind each bough. It plays out perfect for the archer character like Buffy & Aradroth. There is no better felling than sniping from the shadows!Who is the elfin maiden? Time will tell!!

SubRosa- Thanks for picking up the phone. And also for spotting the nit. Fixed!! Your sharp eyes should be insured for millions!! I knew I had to throw the curve ball in about bones, realizing that you use it as a word for your skeleton. That made my day to see your reaction!

mALX- Thanks mALX! Rich descriptions are what it is all about. Sorry that this part of the story doesn't have much ES lore (I know that you are a junkie for all that obscure stuff ) but I promise to head my story in that direction.

Olen- Thank you for dropping in. Your support of my writing is highly appreciated. Your comments have always hinted that I resolve the finding of the camp, so here it is-


**


CHAPTER 10 –


The man ran along the overgrown path, his lean legs moving as fast as he could through the cloying mud. Driven by the dark uncertainty of death and the loneliness that would soon follow, he soldiered on begrudgingly, only stopping when a fork in the trail loomed up before him.

A scowl swiftly lined his features as his eyes adjusted to the light.

“Pashan, you son of a goblin’s rat, slow down,” he wheezed. Bending over his hands rested in defeat against his thighs.

The forest that circled was lonely and quiet, the branches of the trees crowding like silent sentinels, protecting, or perhaps preventing his passage. Around him the misty rain drifted into bunched pockets down each hillside, a subtle grey cloak that rapidly enveloped the winding track.

Hopelessly lost and undecided, Vance Seer pushed his way quietly into the trees. Working his hand within his damp, leather gauntlet he was trying patiently hard to alleviate his feeling of frustration. But nervous tension had already wound its way up the base of his neck like a group of climbing spiders, casting him on a desperate edge. Using a sleeve he tried unsuccessfully to wipe away the rain that clung to his forehead in the unsettling feeling of greasy sweat.

To the left he finally spotted the numerous dark shadows that could be seen fitting on each side with weapons drawn. Unsheathing his own sword he pushed carefully onwards.


**


Pashan raised his gloved hand and settled down on his haunches.

Set in a small clearing on the edge of a deep lake, Nayon Camp sat like an overturned bowl. Hilly land rose in all directions and the Valus Mountains towered above it to the east. Accustomed to the swamp and marsh land to the south Pashan was surprised just how rugged the land was. Perhaps Vance was justified to suggest caution in this wild and extreme landscape.

The camp site had several rough tents and a camp fire, and had a large, scorched area on the ground. It was as if the inhabitants had let a fire get away from under them. What did it mean? Had the assassin tried to burn evidence that tied him to the crime? Or was he part of something even more devious, cannibals perhaps, or even vampires? He was suddenly keen to find out.

Leaping to his feet he advanced on the camp. His eyes widened as a big, mean dog advanced out of one of the tents, its ears laid back. It volleyed barks at him.

“Hello, boy,” he said in a low and pleasant tone. “Where is your master?”

The animal could not have cared less about his friendliness. It kept coming, jet black and huge, like the prow of a ship that bore down upon him.

Stepping backwards he moved into the scrub at the edge of the site. The grass was wet and tangled around his feet. Typical! It was always the loner types, those who commit murder without the approval and voice of the people that also seemed to be the dysfunctional ones, those who kept wild animals for pets. Still, it was not the bite of the dog that scared him, but the bark. The cover of surprise could easily be unbalanced by one of these mutts.

Pashan smiled as a thought dawned upon him.

Stepping up the incline he advanced on the animal again. Experience always said that you could tell a lot about a master of an animal by observing the pet. This dog was big and unfriendly, but it was also old. Closer inspection revealed that his fur was missing in a few places, and the tip of one of his ears was missing.

He couldn’t contain his smile. “Come here, doggie.”

The dog, which had settled down on its haunches, immediately got up again and began to close upon him, growling. Spittle flew from its barred teeth. He could see that the animal was coiled like a spring.

His smile had turned into a hard and bitter grimace as the beast leaped upwards.

Sweeping his arm downward a short bladed knife slashed across the eyes of the animal. Blood spurted into the air and smeared his dark cloak. The angry bark immediately transformed into short, agonized yips.

Pashan’s face had darkened. He stepped forward and rapidly kicked the dog several times in the flank. The dog gave a high, wailing sound and rolled in the mud at his feet. He advanced on the dog again and gave it another kick. The dog, one rib broken, and another badly sprung, realized that it faced a crazy madman, but it was too late to do anything about it. It writhed on the ground like a snake.

The knife flashed again and blood went everywhere. His boots were stained in red.

He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing rapidly, and tried to relax. Why did the arrogant ones always run these camps as if they were the Imperial Watch? What would his dearly departed Mother have to say about this? Control was a virtue, she had always said, given to us by the Nine. How we choose to return that gift of love will determine who we are.

It was a shame that the mother of the pooch had never taught her offspring the value of love.

He opened his eyes. The dog still lay dying at his feet. Its broad tongue lapped at the edge of his boot, as if to acknowledge that it had been bested.

Suddenly, a voice called out, from lower down in the valley.

“Missy, are you there, girl?”

Pashan crouched down and patted the flank of the animal. Using his left hand he reached into his coat pocket for a piece of tobacco leaf.


**


Two men appeared from the far side of the camp.

They were dressed in fur and leather breeches and carried a couple of freshly caught fish. The sound of whistling carried on the morning air. The moment was surreal and spiritual.

The men came up short when they saw him. He could see that they were desperately trying to sum up the situation. Had the unfriendly pooch suddenly found a new friend and wanted its belly scratched?

“Where is your leader?” Pashan asked in a quiet tone.

One of the men dropped his fishing rod. “Missy, are you okay, girl?”

Pashan waited a moment. “Where is your leader?” the Redguard repeated.

“Who is to say?” the man replied, “A leader is a man, and a man is the one who follows the leader.”

Pashan closed his eyes and stroked the animal again. The warmth in the furry flank was only matched by the weight of his green lodestone that sat around his neck, the one that was given to him by his mother. He could feel it beat against his chest with unrequited love.

“Give me the answers I wish to know or your screams will sing long into the night.”

The men stared at him in disbelief.

Stepping forward the head-hunter’s polished boots kissed the wide pool of blood that had spread from the muzzle of the dead dog. He didn’t even notice. Instead, he was focused on the moment of indecision that cost the bandits their very lives.

It was a bow string that signalled the start of the battle. It rang out across the morning air and the bandit on the left disappeared in a shower of gore.


**


Screaming in fright the burly bandit quickly charged down the embankment. Dropping the stick with the skewed fish he was frantically trying to pull his blade from its sheath. All of his senses cried out in desperation. Underneath his feet the water splashed in the bottom of the northern gully.

His mind spun in a crazy circle. What was happening? Why had the stranger killed everybody? What had he done to deserve it? The man wasn’t part of the Watch, was he?

Lamenting his old and overweight condition his heart was pounding within his chest as he crawled under a fallen log. Branches and leaves snapped against his face as he plunged deeper into the foliage. At some point he noticed that his sword was lost in the dark.

Running as long as he could he finally collapsed against a trunk. His brown eyes scanned the trees as he panted like a broken dog.

A bird sound called out to his left. It was high pitched and unlike anything he had heard before.

Turning towards the sound, he saw a dark shadow flit past a tree trunk.

Crying out, he charged off again through the foliage like a blind-man. This time he could hear footsteps sound from behind him, closing rapidly. He panicked and spurred himself onwards. He knew that he only had to reach the safety of Lost Boy Cavern.

Suddenly something struck him in the back. He felt himself falling. The soft, cloying scent of moist, dirt and flowers invaded his nostrils. Several voices sounded above him. He hoped it wasn’t the Imperial Watch and then suddenly wondered why he had that spurious thought? Could it be that this was even worse?

Rough hands grabbed him by his feet and he felt himself being dragged back towards the direction of the camp site. His hands left claw marks in the soil as he tried to resist.

Screaming hoarsely, a wave of fear washed over him as he realized that the men sounded foreign.

A pulse-pounding fight in the bandit camp! One feels sympathetic for the bandits, who while undoubtedly bad people, pale in comparison to Pashan. Showing the end of the scene from the pov of the final bandit was an excellent choice, as it creates a much greater feel of menace than it would if we had seen it all from Pashan's eyes.

But nervous tension had already wound its way up the base of his neck like a group of climbing spiders
Such an excellent metaphor!


nits:
You have an awful lot of sentences with several elements, that you forgot to separate with commas. You can find a ton more about comma usage here.

Bending over{,} his hands rested in defeat against his thighs.
I think you wanted a comma where I inserted it above, otherwise the sentence seems rather odd.

To the left he finally spotted the numerous dark shadows that could be seen fitting on each side with weapons drawn.
I am not sure what you mean by "fitting on each side"?

Sweeping his arm downward{,} a short bladed knife slashed across the eyes of the animal.
Another comma could be used above.

“Give me the answers{,} I wish to know or your screams will sing long into the night.”
And again.

Screaming in fright{,} the burly bandit quickly charged down the embankment.
Once more.

Dropping the stick with the skewed fish{,} he was frantically trying to pull his blade from its sheath.

Lamenting his old and overweight condition{,} his heart was pounding within his chest as he crawled under a fallen log.

Running as long as he could{,} he finally collapsed against a trunk.


The soft, cloying scent of moist, dirt and flowers invaded his nostrils.
This comma on the other hand, seems unneeded.

He hoped it wasn’t the Imperial Watch{,} and then suddenly wondered why he had that spurious thought?
And another one needed here.

Rough hands grabbed him by his feet{,} and he felt himself being dragged back towards the direction of the camp site.
And another one here.

Such a warm welcome back to you! I am so delighted that you are continuing to bring us Aradroth's story!



In these opening paragraphs, you demonstrate your skill for magnificently crafted description that makes a reader feel every nuance. You once gave me advice that I have tried to follow: "Editing can't be rushed; don't post it 'till it sings to you." By the Nine, these first three paragraphs sing! Truly a gift you have.

A pulse rising part indeed, good stuff. It worked well to highlight how nasty Pashan is by making the bandits sympathetic characters. Also I note that Aradroth was distinctly not at the camp, if my memory serves this may proove unfortunate for a particular Argonian...


I know Subrosa mentioned it but I'm quoting it again because that metaphor is wonderful, it really ticks all th boxes with the unpleasant connotations of spiders climbing on him and the feel of hairs standing...

One nit I would say (somewhat linked to subrosa's) is that I found you use the progressive tense (verbs with -ing on the end) a lot. It can feel more immediate and direct to use the simple tense.
For example:
Screaming in fright{,?} the burly bandit quickly charged down the embankment. might be better as
The burly bandit screamed in fright and (quickly) charged down the embankment. the adverb is possibly redundant in this case too.

Anyway that's my 2p, take it or leave it, either way this piece is most enjoyable.

GAAAH! Pashan is a paradox that can ponder the lack of maternal training on a canine while inflicting much worse on the bandits - WHEW !!! The complex character of Pashan is a very powerful write, and your Awesome descriptions and metaphors enhance the scene till - WHEW !! I have been holding my breath through the whole chapter!