~ Time to start Chapter 2, as always, feel free to comment and give your opinions on the story so far ~
Chapter 1-> The Return


Chapter Two-> Lock


The wind was merciless that night as it lashed against the thick walls of Vivec, Abigail looked down at the waters below.
She enjoyed the view from up here, it helped her forget everything. The hardships, the battles lost and the people that abandoned her.
There was knock on the door. Abigail smiled to herself. Not this again…

“Come in” she sighed, the door opening with a shallow creak. “Roderick, Fathis…what do you want?”
The dunmer and redguard behind her both turned a bright red, she didn’t even have to turn around. “Our men caught some travellers up north, we were wondering if…”

“Are they spies?” Abigail cut Roderick short, making his blushing redguard face darken even more.

“Eh…no, we don’t think so miss”

“Are they Fugitives?”

“We...we don’t think so…”

Abigail turned around, her eyes fiery. “Then why are you wasting my time?” she growled. Roderick paused, speechless. Less than a decade ago they were in Suran, drinking, dancing and having fun.
But the last ten years did a lot to Abigail, at nineteen she was still a girl with a pretty face and mischief in her eyes.
But she had grown since then; her face now was beautiful, ladylike. Her emerald eyes were hardened from seeing her friends die and her voice was like tempered steel.

Once she wore dresses and loose fitting leather armour, now she was dressed in the attire that once belonged to an Ordinator, with a purple sash tied around her forehead to keep her lush brown hair out of her eyes.

Fathis smiled softly, “We are pretty low on men Abigail” he said slowly, “They could come in pretty useful…One of them is a Tsaesci.”
“A Tsaesci?” Abigail whispered, interest showing in her eyes for the briefest moment. “Whatever” she murmured, giving a shrug before pointing at the door. Fathis and Roderick gave a bow and left the room slowly.

Roderick took a deep breath, “I hate it when she gets like that!” he wheezed. Fathis nodded in agreement. “Lock should have come with us… he knows how to talk to her.”
“I don’t think she’s waiting for Lock.” Fathis whispered
“What do you mean? oh”

When I finally woke up my body was sore, my feet and hands were numb and there was a warm, coppery taste in my mouth. Blood. “Just perfect” I muttered as I looked around. I was lying on a wooden stretcher with a sheet pulled tightly over the frame, the room around me was windowless but dozens of shelves lined the walls, each one filled with vials and potion bottles.

“You took quite a beating my friend” muttered a wheezy voice.
“Haeil?”
The Tsaesci stood up from a chair that was dipped in the shadows at the edge of the room.
“You were talking in your sleep… sounded like a nightmare.”
I shrugged.

“I can’t really remember”
Haeil smiled, “It was probably the medication…these guys have been pumping you with the stuff”
“These guys?” I asked
Haeil laughed, “The resistance Furan…. I’m a member of it now”
I looked at him strangely, “When did all this happen?”

“You've been unconcious Furan...for a week. When they tried to capture us I ended up beheading a couple of their men…it seems that the people here are just as blood thirsty as they are back home.” His laughter rang across the stone room. Before I could open my mouth to ask something else the door opened and someone walked in.

She was a Bosmer, dressed in the blue robes of a mage; her hands were filled with dozens of pale grey scrolls. With a sigh she placed them on the table in front of her and looked at Haeil.
“Is he doing ok?”
“Of course Madeline…don’t you trust me?” The mage--Madeline gave a grunt before turning to look at me.

Madeline looked very young for a mage, no more then thirty; her copper red hair was tied back into a ponytail revealing a pair of slender pointed ears. She had a light smile on her face but there was intelligence in her eyes as she scanned my arms and face, her gold pointed fingers checked my pulse and bruises.

“I’ve been in Morrowind for nearly 9 years and I never saw injuries like the ones you had ...” She said. Her sharp blue eyes were flicking from me to the book that was in her hands.
“9 years…” she sighed, “I swear to Akatosh if I ever see that swit Traven again, I’ll make him wish that he avoided magic as a child!”
“Whos’ Traven?” I asked
Madeline looked at me, “He’s the Arch-mage of Cyrodiil or at least he was when I left….”

She put on a high pitched voice, like what little girls did when they insulted someone. “Go to Morrowind Madeline the guild needs your leader ship there, it’ll be an adventure, think of all the spells you will learn…” She spat on the ground, “But noooo, one year I’m in Balmora and then I’m being harassed by argonians for being a witch. A WITCH! Can you believe it?”

“It happens a lot, just agree with her and we’ll be fine” Haeil whispered softly. I nodded with a smile.
Madeline gave a sigh and wrote some thing down in her book. “I think it’s time that you went down to Lock” she said, gesturing toward the door.

Haeil nodded and pulled me out of bed. “Where are we going?” I whimpered, the cold air nipping at my feet.

“To see Lock.”

“Who’s Lock?”

Haeil looked at me with a smile, “Oh, you are going to love this.”

Very interesting tale you are weaving here. I like it a lot.

Make sure you write 'nine' instead of '9' It looks better.
I make the same mistake in my writing all the time!


Leadership.


I love the description here. Awesome!!

I agree with Wolf on your descriptions, and always enjoy a cliffhanger!

Between Abigail and Madeline you have created a compelling way to explore the manner in which events can alter lives. I also liked Madeline’s dig at Traven (whom I assume is dead considering that the Nerevarine has been gone from Morrowind for ten years).

Haeil’s comment at the end was cryptic enough to make me wonder what’s going to happen when Furan meets Lock. Hmmm?

As soon as I saw that we were starting with Abigail, I sat down to immerse myself in this mysterious character that seems to have such a profound impact on Furan. I was left with even more questions that makes me want to see more!

Then Madeline is introduced, and I get this bit of a monologue:

Priceless way to illuminate a character's personality. Then it's followed by:

That made me smile. Haeil is a very wise man.

Loved this little bit of character development.

~
hi Winter Wolf and welcome to the story, I'm really glad that you're enjoying it Thanks mALX, your optimistic attiude can really help pull the story along ^^,

And you're right about that Destri Melarg, I'm going with that all the events in Oblivion have happened, although probably by different people, so there isn't just one superpower that's in control of all the guilds etc... theres a few other things that has happened too, but I think that can wait until later


and thanks for another reply haute ecole rider, they're a joy to read and they really help me with anhy nits or mistakes in my wiriting Both Madeline and Abigail are going to have pretty big parts in the story so hopefully I'll make them as real as possible
next piece, I hope you enjoy it~

Haeil led me down the steps, the sound of my bare feet hitting against the cold stairs echoed around us, there was a door at the end, made of thick oak it creaked when Haeil opened it. “The war room” he muttered with a toothy smile.

The room was completely circular and windowless; the oil lamps that lined the circumference shone brightly, revealing a large map of Morrowind in the centre of the room. There was a man hunched over it.
“Lock” Haeil coughed, nudging me forward. The man--Lock turned around and my eyes widened.

He was a little small for a redguard, his dark skin shining under the harsh lamps. His thick black hair was bound into braids that hung down his back; a gold ring was on the end of each so that he made a ringing sound every time he moved his head.
His stock body was wrapped in thick bonemold armour and he had an ebony claymore strapped to his back. There was a silver ring on one of his fingers which he spun around quickly as he stared at me.

“So you’re awake” he croaked, his wild eyes returning to the map in front of him. I even took a moment to stare at the marvel myself.

It was a map of Vvardenfell island, exact to the barest centimetre, small miniature trees were poking out of the ground, miniature people walking along the tiny villages.

“We have some talented mages here” he laughed as my eyes widened.
“Your friend told me everything about you.” He whispered, gesturing toward Haeil who nodded.
“Jiub isn’t it?” he whispered. I looked at Haeil with a scowl who gave me a small wink.
“Eh, yes it is...Lock” I said. The map truly was a masterpiece.
“Here’s the deal recruit” Lock growled. “New faces make me nervous, and I just don’t know how useful you are going to be...Do you know how we lose most of our members Jiub?”

I stayed quiet. It wasn’t a question.

“We are the Nerevara Tong, named after the hero who came to Morrowind and freed us from the blight, he was a patriot and every recruit comes to us with dreams of being the Nerevarine recreated, does a stupid risk and gets himself killed.” He looked at me now, his brown eyes were rich, but they held a wildness to them that would only belong to a man that has nothing left to lose.

“The Nerevarine was a great mer and that’s it... don’t try to become him and don’t put the tong in danger... and we will get on beautifully.” I nodded slowly, resisting the urge to say something.
Lock clapped his hands together, “Now recruit, it’s time to see just how useful you will be...”
I shrugged, “I was in the Morag Tong sir” the sir part ended up sounding forced.
“I’m sure I’m pretty useful”

Lock smiled to himself and shook his head.
“We don’t need assassinations Jiub” he muttered, “The Nerevara Tong is dedicated to helping the people and fighting against the Caldera laws...”
“The Caldera laws?”
If Lock was surprised then he didn’t show it.
“They are rules that the argonian king put up to make us more...manageable” he said the last word with a sneer.

Lock held up his forefinger.
“The first law is the law of possession; a dunmer cannot own any property, ships, armour or weapons.”

He held up his middle finger.
“The second law is the law of ownership. A dunmer cannot own a dog, guar or any animal that is worth more than one hundred drakes... meaning that if an argonian passes us on our prized horse he can offer one hundred drakes for it... and we have to accept it, not even sure what the lizards would want with an animal...unless they plan to eat it.” He chuckled at that.

Lastly he held up the third finger.
“The third and final law is the law of knowledge, a dunmer cannot learn to read, write or use any magic at all... religion is also a part of this law meaning that the nine divines, tribunal and daedric shrines are pretty much erased from around here. “

Lock pointed to the map, “And that’s what we do... we smuggle weapons, we send food to farmers who cannot eat the food they produce because they no longer own their land and we free slaves.” Locks eyes darkened.

“Imperials and other races don’t do much better, like Madeline. We save the mage’s from slave labour or from being stoned to death. We also feed them and in return they create spells and enchant our equipment...”

There was a knock on the door and a small fat Redguard came in, “Sorry I’m late Lock” he huffed, his puffy red face even redder from exhaustion. “She was in one of her moods again...”
Lock laughed, “It’s ok Roderick...this is the new recruit, Jiub” the redguard gave a smile and shook my hand.

“So, its caravan duty today isn’t it?” Roderick asked, Lock nodded with a smile.
“Take Jiub and Haeil along with you, we should see what he can do” Roderick bowed and walked out of the door, gesturing us to follow.

“Jiub?” I asked Haeil with a growl.
“It seemed fitting” he laughed, “Evo did say that you were wanted by these people.”
I gave sigh, wondering now what this ‘caravan duty was’.

I like Argonians a lot less now....

Awesome fiach!

“So...been in Morrowind long?” Roderick asked behind me.
“About a week.” I said as we moved up the stairs.
“Oh...where did you come from.”
“Take a guess” Haeil grumbled, making a gesture toward him as if to say, look at my skin.
“Oh” he laughed, although it sounded uncomfortable.
Madeline raised one of her eyebrows when we came in. “Hey sweetie, one ticket to the Balmora outskirts please” Roderick said with a wink.
“I’m not your ‘sweetie’” she growled, slapping his forehead making him vanish in a plume of violet light.
“Can’t we just go upstairs?” I asked with a smile when she placed her hand on my shoulder.
“No doors in this hideout...sorry” she laughed.
I never liked Guild guides.

****
Roderick was rubbing his head when I arrived; there was small bump on his plump forehead.
“Kitty has claws” he laughed to himself, “Although I think I should count myself lucky.. did you know the last time I said that to her she kicked me in the...”
“Hey Roderick” said Haeil, arriving in a violet flash.
“Oh...hey Haeil” Roderick paled as he looked at Haeil’s snake like body.
“So what’s Caravan duty?” I asked.
Roderick smiled and pointed out near Balmora’s walls, it was a guar trailer, led by two argonian guards. “That’s the caravan.”

He dropped the rucksack he was holding onto the ground, the ring of weapons reached my ears as it hit the stones.
“And that’s the duty.”
I smiled, pulling out a pair of steel short-swords from the bag.

***

The argonians were both wrapped in steel armour, guiding a caravans wasn’t the most exciting work in the world... but at least it was work, the dunmer moved quickly past them, scared to talk to them and scared to ignore them in case they took offence. All in all, Morrowind must be a very fun place for them.

Well not anymore... I thought as I drew my blades. “Remember, quick and clean” Roderick muttered, pointing at the guards, “If you can’t kill them quickly then knock them out. If you can’t knock them out then well...run” he smirked.

I jumped over the hill and ran the guards. The funny this was that Iron armour is more protective then steel, gaps were made in steel armour to make it more comfortable to the wearer so that they will be more likely to purchase it, but all it took was a blade in one of the gaps and.

The argonian spluttered as it felt a blade go straight through its upper chest, sending him to the floor with a crash.

Roderick looked at me with a smile, “Now take the armour off him.” he muttered, taking control of the caravan. Haeil threw the other dead argonian away in disgust. Oddly enough two dunmer passed us by and chose to ignore it.

“They know that if they cause at uproar more guards will come and they might punish them as well.” Roderick muttered to me when he noticed my stare.
“And besides...we help them.”
The caravan moved quickly away from Balmora, up the hills and into the wilds of West Gash.
There was a mage waiting for us at the end of one of the hills, his frame hidden behind a plain black robe.

“What took you so long?” he growled, his hands glowing with the blue of transportation magic.

The chapter above this had some powerful impact! Great write on both!

I really liked how you introduced Lock. This stood out to me:

I think you meant stocky. OTOH, the sentence about the silver ring really brought it home for me. People have mannerisms and tells, and pointing out these little quirks in their personalities really make the characters come alive. That's when it happened for me. My own sister does that with her wedding band when she is worried or anxious.

Another nit:

And what? Seems to me something got eaten by the forum gremlin. Also, this is kind of long (my weakness, too), and might work better if broken into two or even three sentences:
The funny thing was that iron armour is more protective than steel. The gaps made in steel armour to make it more comfortable to wear made it more appealing to buyers. After all, it would take just a blade in one of those gaps and the protective value of the armour would be lost. (I took a guess at what you meant at the end)


This is a great portrayal of Madeline! Her no-nonsense personality really comes through!


Some men never learn, huh? This is another example of an excellent way to develop a character further. Makes me think this Roderick has a soft spot for Madeline, does she have one for him too?

I’m in a palace, was I here before? I stared at the thick marble walls that seemed to stretch forever past me only meeting together in the giant white dime that was the ceiling.
My bright grey hair was unbound and hanging down my back and I walked down the steps and along the halls with a grace that I could never equal in reality. The back of my expensive robes dragging along the ground.

There was someone talking to me, his golden skin shone in a way that a highelf could only envy, his blond hair hanging by his knees,.
“But why do you trust them so?” the mer asked, his voice bitter as we walked.
“Because they are my allies Voryn and against the Dwemer, allies are needed…”
Voryn placed his hand on my shoulder and sighed,

“Lord Nerevar, I don’t think you should go with us…we can lead the armies ourselves! We can summon Azura.”
I smiled and looked into his eyes.
“Dagoth my brother. I need to do this, don’t worry when we have dealt with Dumac then we wil return here and build a perfect world for the chimer, all of us…together. Everything will be ok”

“Psst…Furan” Someone hit me, not gently,
“I’m sleeping” I mumbled, trying to turn away.
“Liar” he hit me again.

I opened my eyes to see Roderick, smiling widely with his pudgy face.
“You’ve been in here for how long? A week? I think it’s time that I showed you some good old fashioned Morrowind hospitality.” With a sigh I got out of bed, I reached over to wake up Haeil who was snoring in the bed beside me but Roderick stopped me.
“Leave him” he whispered.

“To be honest, your friend scares the compassion out of me”
I chuckled silently and nodded, leaving the snorting lizard in his bed as we walked.

“Let’s make a quick stop first” he muttered to me with a wink.
We turned a left and up a small flight of stairs where we were greeted by a small wooden door that was cut into the rock face. Roderick smiled and knocked on the door, putting on a voice that you would usually only hear from a young couple.

“Maddy?, Wanna come out with us?”
There was no answer, Roderick knocked again.
“Maddy?”
“I’m called Madeline” shouted the voice behind the door.
Roderick laughed and opened the latch on the door slowly.
“Don’t you dare!”
Roderick opened the door slowly and peeked his head through.
Minutes later I heard Roderick yell and was greeted by the creeping smell of burnt wood.
I laughed when Roderick took his head out, his face covered in soot and the pitiful hairs on his upper lip were burnt to cinders.
“Yeah…she doesn’t feel like coming out” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. With a chuckle I followed him as we continued to walk.,

“You know man I’m really glad you’re here; this is only a small base y’know? “ Roderick said as we moved. His puffy face was alight with excitement. “Only about six permanent members and Lock is the only important one... honestly I’m bored stiff half the time, he’s really protective for a brother…”
“Brother?” I snorted.
Roderick nodded sadly,

With a smile pushed through one of the doors, revealing a small circular training room. Roderick pulled out a pipe as well as a handful of green leaves.
“Ever try this stuff?” he asked,
I shook my head
“It’s tobaxo, tobbacu… tobb..eh, I forget what it’s called, but it’s brilliant!” I curled my nose as he lit it. I typically didn’t like something when it would skin the inside of your lungs.
“Lock-typical, he wants me to stop doing it, but I says to him I says… he can have his vices and I can have mine…well, not to his face of course. By Azura, the things he would do if I said that….”

Roderick blushed at that last comment. With a smile I lay on my back, the stale smoke filling the air and Roderick voice leading on to an illegible drone. I hadn’t been here long and as far as the night went, it could have gone a lot worse.

The grey smoke covered ceiling looming on as I went back to sleep.

Nice bit of character development there.

'“To be honest, your friend scares the compassion out of me”' - forum swear filter ate your word there.

I typically didn’t like it would skin the inside of your lungs. - something ate that sentence I think.

Otherwise good stuff, it's good to see the plot and characters develop, makes them more interesting to give them little vices.

Solid fast moving stuff

wow, first time I ever got censored >.>

oh well, I'm glad that you are liking it Olen

I would rather the filter did something like this [censored] than to change the word like that, because you can't always see where they have fixed it when the new word is inserted. At least with the [censored] you can tell you need to alter the word.

I suppose it adds a bit of humor to it, lol

but yeah, they should make it similiar to what they do on the bethesda site

I'll have to make a list of every cuss word I may use in my story and see which get censored and what they are changed to, lol.

SubRosa had me rolling laughing when she first started posting her story on the BGSF because she was testing them out.

~I may have to slow down with the next few updates...I'm starting to doubt that the posts are as good as they used to be, next post will probably be at Monday on the latest I hope that you enjoy it...~

I coughed, loudly.

Lock ignored me, his crimson hands dominating the map before him, dozens of small models were being moved along Vvardenfell’s landscape, Showing argonian troop levels, trade routes, recruits, areas where possible recruits could be found...
Finally his hands finally slowed down and he stood up, smiling a grim, but satisfying smile.

“We have a job for you” he muttered.
“Roderick has gotten information about a weapons cache that we think the argonians are holding onto in old Pelgiad. Constant patrols, sightings of well known blacksmiths and weapons dealers in the near area, we’re sending you, Roderick and Shemble to it, you get a recall amulet each...”
He opened up a small box beside him and took out a plain bronze amulet.

“Reach the cache, grab the stuff, activate the spell and then it will take you back here” he grunted, handing it to me.

Lock leant back onto the map, satisfied.
“Alright, you can count on me” I said, putting the amulet on.
“Are you still here?” he growled.

***
“Hey, it’s Jiub” Roderick exclaimed, giving me a hug. His pudgy arms wrapping around me tighter then a werewolf’s bite.
“Hey” I wheezed, feeling my bones cracking together.

“Whoops, sorry” he chuckled, releasing me with a grunt.
“Are you two done?” Madeline sniffed, leafing through one of her books carefully before placing it back onto the shelf.

Roderick nodded with a grin and it was then that I noticed the third member of our party. Shemblewas a dunmer, although it was hard to tell from the thick brown cloak that was wrapped around his body, he wore a thick leather belt around his shoulder,
daggers hanging slickly from it, making a light ringing sound as he moved toward us.

He pulled down his hood to reveal a bald head with 3 thick piercings in his left eyebrow, giving me a greasy smile as Madeline began to work her magic.

****
“I don’t trust him” I muttered softly to Roderick as we walked through the grasslands, Shemble moving in front.
Roderick nodded “He was a Hlaluu..They are the only dunmer house that actually agrees with the argonians...”
I looked at him with a slight glare; there just wasn’t something right about him...

Roderick took the lead now, leading us away from the castle in the background and west toward some hills. “A secret way in” he muttered softly, nodding toward a stone door that could only be the entrance to an ancestral tomb.

It made sense the tong would use them...after all since religion was pretty much outlawed not many people would go into them now...
Roderick nodded to me with a smile, place his hand on the thick stone handle and pushed it forward revealing a small darkly lit room.
Walking in I felt that there was something wrong, “Wait” I muttered, but it was too late, the door shut firmly behind Roderick’s hand.

“It is good that you have finally returned to us...Ser Nerevar” a voice muttered, the throaty husk that could only be wielded by an argonian. it deep croaky voice that I had heard before.
“Who is it?” I growled to the darkness before a torch was lit.

There was an argonian in front of me, holding his torch like a weapon and bringing it up close to his face, beneath his armour showed a muscular frame, with pitch black scales and deep golden eyes.

“You were the one who sank my ship” I muttered, turning around quickly to Roderick, his jolly face now malicious as he held Shemble beneath his grip, a blade stuck straight into his neck as the dunmer gurgled, coughing up blood and staring blankly at the dark ceiling.

“There isn’t a weapons cache?” I whispered
Roderick shook his head softly, “You tried to trick us” he growled, throwing what was once Shemble onto the ground, making him land in a soft thump.

“You will die here, savior of the Ashland people,” The Argonian smiled, a blade already in his hand.
“As will your friends, family and guild” he spat into the ground.

A flash of blue light came from behind me, showing that Roderick had left the tomb.
“I am crown prince Teinaava, shadow scale and one of the most power mages in Black Marsh’s history…” He chuckled at that, looking at me with his sharp golden eyes,

“I have not fought a worthy opponent in years… the last was an assassin by the name of...ah, Eno Hlaluu, an assassin who went against my brotherhood, I have heard that you are part of the Morag Tong..maybe you knew him…”

“You killed Eno?” I asked, my voice little more than a whimper.
Teinaava smiled at that.
“He squealed like a pig…”

I imagined him, Eno lying on the floor with his rich purple robes, a cloud of blood just above his chest from where the blade hit, ‘Where are you Furan?’ he must have whispered before meeting Mephala’s grace. Tears coming to his withered eyes

With a roar I drew my blades, my magicka wrapping around my body like a blue cloak, the entire tomb half lit by my blue magicka and the other half lit by the yellow of the argonians torch.

With a growl the argonian lunged, the battle had begun.

Roderick fled? What a coward!

Teinaava...is that Ocheeva's twin brother? Ooooh! Now this is a backstory I've always wanted more insight into!

Uh, what just happened here?

My reaction was quite similar to Firen's (Furan's? I'm a little confused here at the moment). I doubt I would have reacted as quickly as he did, though.

Nice plot twist here! I've got to keep reading. More!

Wow I cant beleve I havent updated in nearly two weeks
it's incredible what can happen when you break the writers curb and its even more incredible how hard it is to get back into it
So I'm going to finish off this bit before going to bed and then work a bit harder from now on
sorry for those of you (if any) that missed the updates, but I'll try to write some good pieces to make up for it

There’s a funny thing about memories, some will never leave you and others will vanish but it is often the ones you need the most that quickly turn to dust. I suppose during those days so much was happening it was just easier to forget about the fear, the death and worries.

One thing I would never forget was the tomb itself. Nearly a decade of abandonment had brought a thick blanket of dust along the jar filled shelves.

The horrible faces carved on the jars that jealously held the ashes that once made up that same face were nearly all the same beneath that dusty grey smirk. Teinaava drew his blade, a scaly finger dancing along the edge coolly while I stood there trying to stop my legs from shaking.

I recognized the blade in his hands, after all who could forget that rich black blade with the purple edges that glew by the means of magic long lost to this world.

“Umbra?” I muttered but the answer to my question came to me as a blow instead of words with the roar of the shadow-scale as he swept along the rows with his eyes glowing madly.

There was no mistaking it, it was a claymore when I held it last but time seemed to have changed the blade, forcing it to be in the command of a man’s single hand.

Giving a short sigh I dropped my scabbard, the blade giving a mournful ring against the stone. Steel wouldn’t do much against a weapon that would suck the very heat from a room, I needed to find another way out and then I needed to deal with Roderick, he knew who I was and that was too dangerous to be floating around.

“I’m a little disappointed” Teinaava sighed, resting his palm against the tombs thick stone walls.

“I had heard stories of you Ser Nerevar, people said that you couldn’t be killed...that you slayed dozens of men twice your height with a single slash of your sword. They said you would be worthy of my steel.”
Teinavaa’s smile fell sullenly, like a child who was sent to bed too early.

“But...I suppose it will have to do...”
“But why are you here?” I croaked softly, looking at him with all the hate in my eyes.
“Why would you invade Morrowind, we have done nothing by you!”
Teinavva laughed his blade returning to it’s sheath and tears came to his sullen eyes

“You...haha you have done nothing? Hah, then tell me ser Nerevar why is it that fathers, mothers and children were pulled from our homeland?
Why is it that they are condemned to shackles while you roam free, why is it that you force us out of our homes and treat us like slime and then you claim nothing?”

Teinaava roared and drew Umbra again.
“This is your peoples own fault, and it is a justice that your people deserve.”
The argonian spat into the ground and moved toward me, hissing softly as I looked up along the jar filled walls.
Jars..

I gave the argonian a smile, placing my hand on the wall beside me, allowing the hungry ashes to absorb my magicka.

“What...what are you doing?” Teinaava growled, but his eyes were alight with fear,
“Stop that....”

Nodding I began to laugh, the minute my hand left the ashes hell broke loose.

Ashes swarmed around the shadowscale,his snarled throat screaming as the spirits of my ancestors rushed down his throat and cut against his skin with a speed that I had never seen in a ghost before.

I ran to the body of the fallen dunmer nearby and sighed, grasping the amulet around his neck and allowing myself to be pulled through the vacuum of violet light.

Yes, it has been too long since the last update.

It took me a bit to find my place again in this story, but that is more a reflection of my own memory than of your writing. Your writing is, as of late, very good and very tight. I liked how you represented Umbra as a single-handed sword, as it is in Oblivion, rather than as a claymore (as I understand it is in Morrowind).

And how Furan called on his ancestors instead of trying to go up against that hell-sword is very realistic and intelligently done.

Glew isn't quite an English word. I'm thinking you want glowed, or maybe gleamed (gleam is considered softer and more subtle than glow).

Well done, again! I am glad to see Furan come back. Update when you can, but don't try to force the story. It'll go at its own pace, as I have learned. I'll keep an eye out for your next update!

Nice chapter! But why would Firen say the Argonians had it coming? Surely, they dont't deserve slavery? Kind of a weird thing to say for the Nerevarine who abolished slavery in the first place?
Okay, they invaded Morrowind after Landfall but that's war and politics. All's fair in love and war (and politics)

Argh! You let Umbra soul-trap you? ARGH! - that was an exciting scene!

Haute Ecole Rider Thanks against for the help, I actually thought that glew was a word lol, I really should use a dictionary more often
And yes Umbra was a claymore in Morrowind, but I thought changing it to a longsword in Oblivionm was a great idea

Remko well it wasn't reallt the Nerevarine who abolished slavery, it was king Helseth, slavery was abolshed about 2 years before Furan had left only for the argonians to come over and bring it back, only in the oppossite extreme.I guess both sides have done horrible things, but Furan himself is trying to see the good in his own race.



I took a deep breath, my heart was beating too fast, my stomach was queasy, I fumbled with my sleeves and I thought the pastor noticed me.
“Don’t worry” he whispered. “You’ll be fine.” I gave him a small smile and took a deep breath.

We were near the sea of ghosts, atop a fleet of cliffs that seemed to touch the rich blue sky itself. The wind made the cold morning weather almost unbearable, the people around me held their robes and fine clothes close to their bodies but I was too nervous to care.
“Here she is!” yelled a voice and I felt my heart flutter,

She was dressed in a simply white dress, lilies embroidered against the neck line, hiding the small chain that she had worn since she was six and swore she would never remove.
There was a hushed silence as she walked up, the look on her face showing that she was just as nervous as me.

“Now let us begin” the pastor whispered, sweeping his right hand toward us and then to the sea.
I gulped and reached into my pocket, finding what I needed with a shaken grin.
A small, white gold ring.

“Do you Furan Saris, take Abigail Batian as your guide, your lover, yourself?”

I looked into her eyes, fierce emeralds, my breath turning into a wheeze.

“I do” I whispered.

There was nobody to greet me when I returned to the base, No fire, no Madeline...Madeline.
The room around me was wrecked, books lay half open with their pages ripped out at the seams, sitting in a crumpled ball like a beggar who died out in the cold. Broken vials and potion bottles lined the floor, bringing up a sour smell that made my nose curl.

Taking a deep breath I moved away from the stench and into the halls, holding my sleeve to my mouth while I moved past the bodies that lay on the floor, the look of fear still on their faces as they stared at the blood on the walls with a mindless expression.

Giving a sigh my hand hovered over to my scabbard before realising that I dropped my short-sword in the tomb, “Damn it”

Suddenly a scream rocked the walls, ignoring my pain, ignoring the fact that I was weapon less and that there was death all around me I ran to where the scream was created, moving toward the Madeline’s room who’s door was hanging open.

“I told you about this Maddy, but you Wouldn’t listen!”

“No..please..”

I peeked through inside to see Roderick, a smile cut into his chubby face and Madeline at his feet, covered in blood. Her fine robes ripped at the edges.
"Witch" Roderick spat, giving her a swift kick in the stomach, Madeline cried, the salty tears and blood runnign down her once pretty face.

With anger gripping me, I pushed some magicka out of my fingertips, fire reaching around Roderick with the most intense hunger. The Redguard screamed while I picked Madeline up gently in my arms, moving out of the room and at the stairs.

”We...need...to...get to..Lock” Madeline panted, moving her head gently in the direction of the map room. I looked down at her head sadly while we moved, her pretty bosmer face was now caked with old blood, a deep cut near her eyebrow had swollen and sealed her right eye shut.

Lock was in the map room when I entered, the remains of four argonians lying around him while he sent another into the wall with bloodlust in his eyes.

With a roar he raised his claymore again toward me before recognition returned to his eyes, “Jiub?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
Madeline groaned and glared at him with her one good eye, “It was Roderick,” she whispered, her fingers on my neck beginning to drain the magicka from me while I looked at what was in Lock’s hopeless eyes.

Was it sadness? Betrayal? Maybe it was fear...that the enemy could twist the love of his own brother against him.

I stood there wondering while Madeline whispered the incantations as fast as she could, fatigue cutting deep into her while she pressed her fingers deeper and deeper into the back of my neck.
I winced and allowed the magic to take me,

the deep violet surrounding the two of us, leaving only blood and bodies behind.

Good stuff. So Roderick decides to do something about Madeline, and not in a nice way, either.

Are there pastors in Morrowind? There are none in Oblivion, only priests. I'm not sure that there would be a difference between the two in the TES universe. I've never come across "pastor" in lore, either. For the purposes of the scene, "priest" would work just as well.

Some nits:
I think it's Sea of Ghosts (capitalized, as most proper nouns/names are). I really liked the image fleet of cliffs conjured up, so that was an especially nice touch.

Simple is the word you're looking for, I believe. And I would be more appropriate at the end of the second sentence. Beautifully written in its simplicity.

This is long as a single sentence. Breaking it up into two or three shorter sentences would help it flow better. You also have an extra the (from a previous edit, maybe?), and it's whose.

You got letters skipping around on you (happens to me, too, especially when I start typing too fast!).

Looks like a return crept in the middle of the paragraph.

Overall, I really liked the sense of hurt, betrayal and pain you conveyed in the end. The only things I'm not clear on: was Roderick killed by Furan's fire spell, and was Lock included in the Transport spell?

And starting this piece with a recollection of the marriage ceremony (or bonding ceremony, or how ever you prefer to call it) was a wonderful touch. Well done!

Good piece, the flashback was succinct and pleasing in it's simplicity. It was also well placed with its very different tone. You've built some mystery around what's happened to, even having found out who the betrayer was more questions pop up and draw the reader deeper.

There were some nice images too, 'fleet of cliffs' has been mentioned, 'scream rocked the walls' is effective too.

Well Lock was brought along with the teleportation spell and as for Roderick.... well I'm afraid you shall have to wait and see.....

this is a short enough update because of school >.> but I have some big plans for the post after this

I knew that we were in a tomb before I even opened my eyes. It's the smell I think, the dark musty smell of fallen men and woman that have long since been abandoned.

A young dunmer boy jumped up when we arrived, his clothes were filthy and his face gave small signs of blight marks on his face and bald head.
Lock gave him a nod and the stable boy sighed deeply as if he knew exactly what had happened.

Without another word he led us out of the tomb, past the dusty urns and coffins until we were greeted by moonlight that escaped from the moving clouds.
The stable boy gave me a new short-sword and a guar and then silently we began to move.

We took turns; I walked during the day and rode at night, keeping a vigilant eye on Madeline who breathed softly beneath the worn bandages that now lined her pretty face. Lock kept silent, his face a grim mask while we moved along the coast, alongside waters of indescribably blue, Every now and then I noticed him staring at the ocean, almost with a sense of longing that he himself could simply dive right in.

"Haeil is fine." Lock muttered after two days of silence, I froze at that, I never even thought of Haeil until now, a mix of guilt and relief both flooded me while Lock continued.

"I sent him down to Vivec, Safest place in Morrowind..." his voice broke at the end and he looked down, giving way to the type of silence that eats away at you deep inside.

"I'm sorry about Roderick" I murmured but Lock put his hand up to stop me.

"I've lost two brothers and a father in this war now Jiub.... You get used to it I suppose...."

With one of the first smiels in days Lock nodded up near where the harbour was,

"There it is" he muttered.
"That's Khuul,"
My eyes widened at that, there would only be one reason why we would be going to Khuul of all plays, we needed to get a ship.

A very special ship.

The ship to Solstheim.

Tense!!! continue please....

I agree with Remko, you are good at building the suspense. A few typos but they didn't bother the content!

This may be a short post, but it certainly ramped up the tension!

What's next?

~~Sorry about the late replies recently everyone. School has been brutal lately as my English teacher is making us write an autobiography as a “personal project” which makes it hard for me to go back onto word after so much typing >.> but only two weeks left of school so hopefully the story will be finished by the start of July :]

But I had my seventeenth birthday on Monday and thus some time to start on a paragraph so I decided to start writing something so you guys would know that I’m not dead and Furan’s story definitely is not either. As always, please comment and tell me what you think ~~


The Saris tomb was built about a year after he disappeared. Nestled beneath the palace district of Vivec there was a time when people came from all around Morrowind to visit the small room with the three chests that lay inside.

Each chest was a small tribute to the Nerevarine, one held Umbra, the black claymore that the Nerevarine used to slay Dagoth Ur in his final form. The second chest held the ring of moon and star which the
Nerevarine used to prove his birthright to the dunmer people and earn their hope.

The third and final chest held Goldbrand, his most treasured weapon. The chests were arranged in a small
circle around a statue of him, the mer who saved the land for the dunmer.

Abigail liked to come down here sometimes, it helped her think, it helped her to stare at that cold ebony statue and imagine that he was actually staring back at her.

She looked at one of the chests with a sigh. It once held umbra, but the year that the argonians held onto Vivec gave them the chance to break the enchantment on one of Furan’s great treasures.She used to dream of him living in a cave somewhere and finding Umbra, realising what had happened and would one day burst through the doors with fire in his eyes. Not anymore though, dreams wouldn't help them win this war, but still....

“There’s talk of an invasion Furan” she whispered softly, the dim light of the torch just showing her pale pointed face. “Scouts came this morning talking about argonian soldiers crossing the border, past the Mournhold ruins.”

Abigail bit her lip and traced her finger across the cold statue, such a fragile, delicate face he had. “People want me to tell them what to do.... and, I just don’t know anymore.”
Tears came to her eyes as she fell to her knees.

“You would know what to do wouldn’t you; people would jump into fire for you... Just tell me, TELL ME WHAT TO DO!” She screamed banging her fist against the stone floor.

The statue did not answer.

“Jiub, it’s time to wake up.”



The land of the Skaal people had changed a lot since I first came to its shores. Where trees once ran wild and free along the coasts were now replaced with small wooden huts that were perched onto the cold gritty floor. Lock smiled at the startled look on my face. Immigrants are flooding to here every day since Cyrodiil closed its borders, keep your coin-purse close to you.

He nodded to Madeline who was sleeping near the edge of the boat, peace running down her face. I sighed and picked her up, following Lock onto the mainland.

“Why would Cyrodiil close its borders?” I asked while we walked.
Lock snorted, “I’m not in the mood to give you a history lesson kid” he muttered, nodding toward the large fort that loomed only a few feet away. “Come on, the sooner we get in here the better.”

Fort Frostmoth had changed a lot in the last couple of years. What were once scared recruits with low morale had transformed into battle scared legionnaires. I also noticed that there was a lot less of them. War has a high cost.

Lock finally stopped at the main oak door and knocked it loudly with his thick crimson fist.
“Leave Madeline here” he whispered, gesturing to the step and began to walk away.

”What?”

“JUST DO IT!”

I bit my lip softly and placed her gingerly onto the snowy step. Knocking an extra time to be sure, I turned around and ran toward Lock who already was making his way into the great forest that loomed behind the castle.

The snow crunched softly beneath my feet as I walked, there weren’t any Ricklings here, or any wanderers, what has happened?

“I don’t know how long you’ve been out of the country Jiub” Lock growled, as if he sensed my confusion.
“But I wouldn’t go looking for anything familiar. Morrowind has become a more…. Brutal place then it once was.”

I nodded and kept my mouth shut. The snow was falling heavier and the chitin armour that wrapped my body was begging to freeze.

It wasn’t long before we reached a small tomb, just cut out of the ice.
With a slow nod of Lock I went in, the wooden door making a sharp creak when I pulled down the latch.

It was smaller then the last base, Just a large room with a few bedrolls on the floor beside a roaring fire. A small map of Morrowind was pinned to a nearby wall and there was a small staircase on the left that loomed into a black corridor.

A few people looked up when we emerged but put their heads down quickly enough. Lock gave a sign and went over to the map, reading the notes that surrounded the map

“Ok kid, we have to keep you busy if you want to survive here.” He spat, pulling off one of the notes and handing it to me.

Written in an elegant hand was

Find Sk’Rivva

“Sk’Rivva?” I asked, Lock just grunted and pointed to the door.
“She’s an alchemist who’s famous around these parts, get over to her and ask for a few bottles of antidote elixir, she should be near the north of the island with the Skaal.”

Nodding softly I went to the door, Once I had the opportunity to help the Skaal in the past, but the path of the beast gripped me instead.

I was not looking forward to a reunion.

Hoo boy. Where to start?

There is a lot of buried history here. I liked the little scene at the beginning, with Abigail at Furan's tomb. My only question about that scene is: is it a dream of Furan's, or is it a subplot told from a different POV?

Nits:
Looks like the space after the period went AWOL.

The first "to" doesn't feel needed here. Others may disagree.

I think the second "r" got scared and ran off - it should read scarred.

The 'j' is too big for its britches here, it doesn't need to be capitalized.

Now for some really good stuff:
Don't we all wish . . .

Ain't that the truth!

This is a perfect example of what I meant when I commented about implied history. I only know of Bloodmoon from Trey's writing, as well as the UESP wiki, but I know enough to guess at this fragment of Furan's past. It fleshes him out even further.

Good job! I'm glad to see you keeping this up, even with school and all. Though it's been almost 20 years, I remember too well what a creativity sucker classes can be.

Oh, and happy birthday! I hope you had a nice one!

Happy Birthday, and Great Dialogue!!!

Just what our resident kitty and H.E.R said. Well done! I also noticed a few nits, but most of it was pointed out by Haute.

Oh, and Maligayang Kaarawan, Fiach! Hope you had a good one.

(That unknown word right there means 'Happy Birthday' in Tagalog.)

Great plotting. You show the way things have changed well, even on Solstheim.

I too like the depth of background this story has, it's clear you have a lot of the background worked out in addition to the actual story which adds depth.

The only issue I saw was that a couple of times you used 'then' when 'than' would be correct (when comparing things use than):
Brutal place then it once was.
smaller then the last base

The "beast" that distracted him from helping the Skaal was Dagoth I presume? Loved the subtle immersion of history!

Free
the autobiography is in, the school work is finished and I finally had the time to get back on track. The next post is an introduction to a character who I has not yet gained that much attention in the story. It may be a little poor seeing as I havent ventured into Morrowind in close to two weeks and if so I'm sorry
But none the less I hope you enjoy it

oh and thanks everyone for the happy birthdays, I had a lot of fun


From the day I was born I knew I was destined for great things.

It was the third of second seed nineteen years ago I was born, the only hatch from six eggs, such things were not unheard of; but it still was rare enough for the cities shaman to keep their eyes on me for the majority of my young life.

I still remember the day I met him, although it has been a decade it still runs cleanly through my mind as if it had only just happened.

Eight summers old, I had pulled myself from my chambers and snuck near the great hall, when I leaned my ear close to the mottled wooden doors I could hear voices, although they were little more than a whisper.

“….but he’s too young”

“Silence woman, it has already been decided…”

“But just one more summer with him, I beg of you…”

“The son of a scale….”

I leaned my ear closer into the door, hoping that I could make out more until a calm voice came from behind me, a voice that both woke me up and set me asleep, that struck fear into my soul yet pumped love into my heart, a voice that even now I can hear when I close my eyes…

“Eavesdropping should be done with a more delicate hand my child” the voice whispered. I turned around and I did not know if I should run or stay.

He was a human, or at least that was all I could make out. He was hidden behind thick black robes that moved quietly even though there was no breeze or wind in the halls to move it.

“I wasn’t eavesdraaaping” I snarled, my cyrodilic accent already hampered by my argonian tongue.
The man smiled at this and took my hand. “Come my child” he muttered.

“We have much to discuss”
He pulled me along, up the stairs and past the areas that I had explored when I was a child. I began to get reluctant to keep moving when we reached my grandfathers library.

More than four hundred years old it was his pride and joy, telling me from a young age that if he caught me here I would spend the rest of my life in the swamp mines. “Why are we going here” I whispered, terrified but exhilarated at the same time.

The man simply smiled and nodded to the floor, to a trapdoor that was half hidden by an old rug.

Dust and cobwebs long since disturbed broke and scattered into the air when I pulled up the latch, the door opening with a shallow creak.

The man watched me carefully as we walked down the thick stone steps beneath as if gauging the expression that tried to hide from him. But there was no way I could hide my reaction when I reached the foot of the stairs.

It was a massive room, easily four times the size of my bedroom, there was…
“Sixteen practice dummies, one hundred and fourtey six different types of weaponry from Tamriel and beyond.” The man said “

A bed if you wish to sleep here as well as a small pantry, filled with plants that are grown artificially in this same room.”

He began to point out the different parts
“Melee training ring”
“Archery Range”
“Library”
“Garden”
“Enchantment studios.”

Placing his hand on my shoulder the stranger looked into my eyes and glared. His icy stare putting a shiver down my spine.

“Markit ba’Teinaava, you are a shadowscale and the son of another shadowscale as well. Such lineages are rare and thus the night mother has taken an intrest in you.”
He waved his hand in front of me, as he was showing me a wonderous gift.

“I once trained your father and your aunt here, what was once his is now yours, until he dies and you are to take his name…. and his profession.”
With one last smile the man turned and began walking toward the stairs.

“Wait!” I screamed
“What is your name?”
The stranger turned and smiled

“My name is Lucien, Lucien Lachance.”

-----------

The years were good to me, training was difficult but after a while I discovered that I liked the training and after a while longer I discovered that I had reached a stage that it was as necessary to me as breathing.

Lucien came often but only briefly, to test me and if need be help me with my excercises. He arrived without warning but when he returned to me one cold suns dusk night, I knew that something was wrong.

Lucien arrived with a limp, his pale but sharp face was sweating as if he had rushed to be here, a fresh scar ran down his cheek. “Don’t” he growled when I sprang up to help him,

His scowl softened,
“I have simply had a trying week…” I nodded in compliance.

His age seemed to have finally caught up with him in the last few months; I remembered when I was younger and marveled at his pale skin.

I said it was like paper and asked if there was more like him. Lucien laughed and said there was and promised that he would take me to the great cities of paper with him one day so I could see its paper people myself.

We talked for a few hours, like we normally did when he arrived. I told him about my weapons training and we had a few small conversations to see how strong my grasp on foreign languages had become. But still he bit his lip as if he was holding something back from me. It took him until the end of the night to tell me.

“I have some bad news” he whispered.

“You father has been killed. You aunt has as well.”

Is it possible to mourn over someone that you have never met? It is possible to weep over a face you have not touched or a breath you have not smelled? It matters not for on that moment I broke, allowing the tears to run freely from my face. Lucien simply sat there, waiting for the moment to pass.

“Why?” I demanded, “Why would someone kill him?
He was loyal to the night mother and Sithis most of all!”
Lucien opened his mouth to say something, but it was at that moment his eyes softened. I think it was looking at me that forced him to lie that night; I think it was me sobbing like an infant that forced Lucien
Lachance to care for me like a son.

“I do not know” he muttered avoiding my gaze.
“But it is ok Teinaava, it is ok now.”
I bowed my head and allowed the words to hit me.

Teinaava

“Does that mean?” I asked,
“Yes” Lucien muttered,

“You are ready to become one with Sithis.”

He pointed to a small ornament on the wall; it was golden and hung from a low rafter.
“When that lunar clock chimes six times I will have returned and I will take you with me to Cyrodiil.” He smirked.

“There is a certain individual who has recently come into my employ that I would like you to meet, someone who may very well bring the Black Hand power that they have not wielded since the days of the night mother herself….

He got up to leave and nodded again to the wall, “When the clock chimes six” he whispered, before wrapping himself with a chameleon spell and vanished into the night.

---------

I waited eagerly for Lucien to return. I looked forward to leaving with him, visiting places I had never heard of before and seeing people I had only read of in the books I have read.

The clock ran four times, five times, six times… Lucien did not come.
Seven times, eight times… I was beginning to get worried.

I was greeted on the ninth ring, although it was not Lucien who had come to me.

She was a high elf, a thick black cloak was wrapped tightly against her frame showing curves that I tried my best not to notice.

“I am Arquen” she whispered, “Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood…”
“Where is Lucien?” I asked sharply,
Arquen looked surprised at that,

“He has been dead for more than a week” she growled, looking at me with a sudden leer in her eyes,

“You loyalties belong to me Murderer”
Tears came to my eyes but I tried to hold them in as Arquen walked through my quarters, sneering at my tools and equiptment as if they were nothing more than common toys.

“There is a task the black hand demand of you” she said, pointing to a map of Tamriel on the wall, more specifically the land of the dunmer,

The land of Morrowind.
“An invasion has begun” she whispered.
“Shadowscale are needed.”

“No!” I spat
“What did you do to Lucien?”
Arquen’s eyes filled with a dangerous fury.

“Before I leave I must show you discipline it seems” she growled.
My screams ran through my training room that night. I never spat at her again.

-------

I pulled myself away from the rubble around me with a grin. The dunmer who I was sent after was strong.
No, the Nerevarine was strong.

But I was stronger.

With the last of my strength I pushed myself out of the Sithis forsaken tomb and into the sunlight beyond. Umbra lazily dragging along the ground behind me.

He would be difficult to track and I would need to report to the Black Hand of course.

But he will be found and will feel the sting of my blade.

Really great chapter! You packed a lot into Teinaava's history here!!! I love the story, and how he came to him after death!!!

this cannot be, the bloodmoon falls and the prey still lives... you have defeated my aspect but I will return mortal, The bloodmoon will rise again and my hounds will walk the lands let this world enjoy its brief restment for hircine will hunt again.

After all those years and that voice still sent a shiver down my spine.
Memories flowed thickly through my mind of the forests of solstheim, of the spirit bear dying with a cry, of thick bushy brown hair erupting from my screaming shaking body.

No,

some things are better left forgotten.

In a way Ravenrock was like me. When it began in Morrowind it had promise and in a way it may have lived up to its promises, but still age and life had worn it down.

What was once a small but booming imperial settlement was now a small city, no, a city implies growth and production and Ravenrock had none of that, with small wooden huts built upon land that did not belong to its owners.

It was an awful day, with a cold drizzle that had made its way from the sea to this little spot in the world. It wasn’t raining but then again it wasn’t really dry either, the air was damp and just walking through it soaked your skin.

Walking quietly through Ravenrock’s streets it was easy to see how much it changed since I last arrived, the muddy streets squelched beneath my feet and a guard passed me, his armour a mix between Redoran bonemold and Imperial chain, neither of course could stop the water and it clung to his bald wheezing head as he walked past.

Families wrapped in rags were dipped beneath the ruins of abandoned huts that had their roofs collapsed but seemed not to care, as if the four thin walls were enough of a home as they could get.

There was a young dunmer girl who was sitting in a doorway, her gray hair was greasy and soaking and ran down her gaunt cheeks as she stared at me with hollow eyes.

I smiled and reached into my purse to give her something but her pale red eyes saw the movement and with a shriek she ran; the possible danger lurking through her mind, her bare feet slapping against the wet floor, leaving a small trail of blood behind that quickly vanished beneath the sodden earth.

A part of me wanted to run after her, to give her some coins and tell her it was ok, look after her and take her off the street.

But as the minutes walking passed I saw more children, more families squatted near buildings in a vain effort to escape the weather and the fevers it might bring. But Lock had sent me to find someone, Sk’rivva, and helping the resistance that fought against the enemy was more important than helping the people who suffered.

What a fool I was back then.

Within nearly an hour of walking through these streets the exit was in sight and my heart leapt at it, any reason to get away from there I suppose.

But it was here that I finally noticed the plight of the people in Solstheim. He was an argonian, wrapped in rough brown robes he was lying near a large fir tree that loomed just outside of town.

As I approached the exit I spotted a guard out of the corner of my eye who
began walking towards the stranger.

“So, how are you liking the weather lizard?” the guard said, his sarcastic sneer of a voice booming across the walls around me.
The argonian didn’t reply and simply shook his head, burying it between his knees and shaking.

To this day I don’t know if it was from fear or cold.

“Well it’s funny” the guard continued. “But you argonians don’t like this cold weather that much does ya? You be liken them swamps and ditches and mud eh?”
He leaned closer to the argonian, his bonemold armoured hand wrapped around the argonians shoulder. “So why are you here eh? What’s your game?”

The argonians muttered something, although from the distance it sounded more like a sob.
I kept walking toward them, I could see the guard properly now.
He was a dunmer, Redoran’s symbol cut into his bonemold armour but there was no trace of honour in this dunmer’s eyes.
“You see” he whispered softly.

“I don’t like it when you snakes are wandering through our towns, pushin innocent famblies out of their homes, stealing from us...spying on us.. is that why you’re here slithers? You be spyin?”

The argonian kept silent, his thin scaly arms wrapped around his knees while he slowly rocked himself back and forth like either a madman or a baby, the sound of his sobs rolling through me.

The dunmer was unimpressed “ANSWER ME!” he roared, drawing his longsword and smacking the argonian the butt of his sword.

That broke the argonians position as he tumbled into the mud; his hood fell back and revealed his face.
I stopped, the argonian was old, very old... scales that had once been fiery red had dimmed with his years, dulled with the pain and sagged now beneath his ancient eyes.

It made me stop, but I cannot say the same for the guard.

“ANSWER ME YOU SLIMY USELESS THIEVING PIECE OF...!” the guard roared, fury laced in his face as he continued to beat the old argonian, his cries drowned by the guard’s screaming.

It didn’t last long. The first thing the guard must have felt was the ball of fire hitting his chest, the cuirass boiling over his skin.

Then he must have felt the power of paralysis lace his body, forcing his muscles shut and his eyes closed.

Finally he would have felt his sword leaving his hand, the dull clatter of it ringing against the road. With a smile I stood up from the guards gibbering body and turned to the argonian who was still sitting waist deep in mud.

The argonian looked at me for a moment shock still lined his face, should he thank me or should he be afraid, a man who could take down a guard by himself would be far more dangerous than anyone else in this town.

With a smile I dropped my purse onto his lap, the dull ringing of what drakes I had left filling up the midnight air.

I didn’t need it anymore.

With a sigh I turned and began to walk out away from Ravenrock, away from the argonian, away from the girl with hollow eyes.

Sk’rivva and the Skaal were waiting.

I really liked the last chapter although it was a bit unclear who's POV this was. I'm assuming it's Teineeva's?

I thought the POV was Furan's (he was looking for someone on solstheim if I correctly recall) though his giving money to the argonian seemed a shade odd, though I suppose he probably wasn't a spy.

Good chapter, you caught the air of dead end towns well with Raven Rock. You're developing a nice plot as well.

I loved the dull, hopeless depression that is Ravenrock in this latest chapter.

Heartwrenching, despairing, sad.

Wonderful writing!

~I'm glad you are all liking the story so far :]

I'm sorry about the mix up Remko, I'll be more clear next time. Here's the next piece of Furan's tale, enjoy



Nights are strange in Solstheim. Too much cold I think, so much frost that not even the suns rays want to for much longer then they need be.
Three days had passed since Ravenrock, three days with a tense chill that refused to budge as I moved my legs, three days of navigating past thick bundles of trees and past snowstorms so strong that I half feared that they would rip the flesh from my bones, and then turn my remains to white.
The corprus 'gift' that I was tainted with for so long staved off the illness but I could still feel it creeping against me, waiting to seep into my creaking bones.

Last time I made the trip I was young, I had youth, real youth instead of the mask that only elves wore. There was a fire in my heart back then, my ignorant mind convinced that I was the Nerevarine. That I was practically a god...

Another snowstorm began to pick up, I help my chapped hands together and made my way slowly near a rustle of trees, I only thought about two things during my first trip.

Worry for the captain who was kidnapped, fear for the unknown skaal who loomed in these foreign lands. And then of Abigail, my wife of little more then a few months, yes we married scant days after the battle against Dagoth,

I imagined her thin pale face, that lovely brown hair which was cut short that spiked up when it was wet. Small hands and the small bump of a child.

I stopped.

A child.

a small cold frown tugged at my lips as I began to move again towards the dying storm. Had it really been so long since those days?
those horrible, horrible days...

The camp of Urshilaku held the evening mist like a cloak that night. It was the seventh of Evening Star so the babe would be born during the darkest month of the year, during the sign of the Thief.

The Thief

I almost laughed at that. The very occupation that brought me to Morrowind in the first place would be the guide for my sons life.
Ralen we would call him, its an old name and with a strong destiny, hope.
After the trials of both Dagoth Ur and of the Bloodmoon, Morrowind needed its hope. More then ever.


Nearby a deer saw me and stood still, it's brown eyes held toward me in strong fear. My stomach rumbled and my nose turned in disgust, for myself, for what could have been.

Inside the hut was Sul-Matuul, wisest man I knew, from outside I could hear his hoarse voice mutter prayers and incantations while mixing salves and herbs that almost made my stomach turn.

With a growl the old Ashlander told me to get out.

With a chuckle I remembered when he first predicted the baby, which shocked Abigail just as much as me. Offspring from a human and an elf were very rare. And dangerous. Sul did not mention the last part, instead let it hang into the air like a noose around our necks.

I took a deep breath and began to wander around, It was here that I my journey as the Nerevarine truly began, it is here that Ralen's life will begin as well.

I smiled to myself. I'm about to become a father...

Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled, beneath the thick back sky I continued to walk, the sun would probably rise soon and I wanted to make my way to the Skaal village before sun set.
Snow cropped around my body, the small hairs on my face freezing into a dense white, making me look older then I am, almost as old as I feel.

I took a moment to look up, allowing my finger to trace the invisible lines that were weaved between the stars that a wise old man once told me showed our destinies. A wise old man who let an empire crumble to dust.

The Mage,
The Apprentice,
Atronach,
Tower,

Thief.

My smile faded.

I suppose you could say that my thoughts shattered with the silence, my eyes widened. There was nothing, Abigail's crying had ceased, Sul-Matuul's prayers had died. I stood there for a moment, terror wrapped around my every breath.

But then Abigail started to cry again, but it wasn't a cry of pain.

One of sorrow.

No....

Memories are a funny thing, you always seem to remember the blade, the part that hurts you the most. I can barely remember the feast we had to celebrate the babies conception, I can't even remember what I was doing before we arrived at the camp.

I just remember shock gripping to my throat, forcing my way into the hut, with Abigail screaming and holding a small bundle of cloth that was stained with blood, with no movement or a whisper coming from it.
I just remember Sul-Matuul beside me, shaking his head as tears stained his ancient cheeks.
whispering the words that would send my world crashing down.

'I'm sorry, we did all we could....'

yes, memories are funny like that.

"is this why I left?" I murmered, my back into the snow, the ice burned my back but I did not care, I half hoped for the earth to open up, to swallow me along with my mistakes.

"it wasn't because I needed adventure....or because Morrowind didn't need me anymore. I was a coward!" I screamed, hitting the cold hard ground beneath me with a balled up fist that just made me hurt more.

"Coward...." I murmered, the tears freezing slowly as they went down the sides of my face while my eyes closing, exhaustion finally kicking in.

The darkness did not come soon enough.

Now that's a tragic chapter, and a sad flashback.

The emotions here are genuine, and quite powerful. And here we have more of Furan's past, and another peek at his ladylove, Abigail.

Well done! I didn't catch any nits this time.

Best chapter so far?! The emotions and his past were beautifully done. My hat off to you .

Due to some unforeseen events I found myself without any internets for a the past month or so...while armed with an Internet café, it didn't really give me the chance to write a full chapter, so here we go again...back on track


(oh and thanks haute and remko, I'm glad you liked it...hopefully the story won't be too difficult to get back into.)

[i]A strong wind howled over the snow capped trees of Thirsk,hail and snow hammered angrily against the wooden walls and thick windows.

Despite the weather Thirsk has always had its troubles, from raiders hiding in the nearby outskirts to demons themselves! Shedding skin and bone to become demons that wish for nothing more then to rip their little lives apart. Of course it had been many years since such a creature had been spotted and of course there were the new people, imperials, Khajiit and even their fellow Nords, trying to escape the horrors of their homes and finding that even their own crumbling empire did not want them, forcing them to stay and scoff at the villages beliefs.

'They are can't be true' they say raptly with a small grin on their faces, 'such monsters could never exist!' But Old Throg had seen these monsters and old Throg's eyes never fooled him.

"So what shall the tale be tonight children?" Throg asked, his back against a chair that was eased out near the roaring fire.
"THE SNOW PRINCE!"
"THE FALL OF MOURNHOLD!"
"THE BLOODMOON!"
The Storyteller took off his wide brimmed hat, his pale blue eyes skimming over the young-lings before him, all were Nords even though there were many people in the tavern this night from Khajiit to Ysmir forbid, a Woodelf!, few of which could or wanted to remember those dark days.

Old Throg smiled and took the pipe out of his mouth.
It was important to remember them though, otherwise the facts would fade, turn to myth and legend... eventually people will say it is just a story and that is when new mistakes are made.

One of the children crept up to him, "Please mister, tell us about the man wolves" she whispered blowing stray piece of blond hair from her eyes. Scotte was the girls name, now eleven years old she was nearly ready for marriage, Throg sighed; it was probably his duty to keep her childhood going until those days.

"Very well" he roared, clapping his hands to draw the attention to him. which it did, soon all eyes were on his wrinkled face, his former muscles turned to flab with age while his icy blue eyes remained alert and intense as if it was a great river pounding inside his head.

Like an artist he moved his spider like hands over the fire, rubbing slowly to keep the warmth and savoring every moment, knowing that the entire inn was watching and holding their breath.

Picking up his walking stick he pounded it against the ancient stone floor,
Once!
Twice!
Three times!

"Our story begins only a few years ago, on a night...very much like this."
He lifted up his tankard from the floor and took a deep draught, his neck moving with the golden liqour pulsing through his body.
"The rain lashed and battered our lands while the moon bled from the sky as if it had been slashed by a great ebony blade.
We lived in fear of the demons that ran through our lands, mortal weapons doing little good to stop the bloodshed and fear...Every night our numbers whittled away until our great shaman Wind-eye begged the spirits for aid."

Throg took another sip of his tankard and licked his lips slowly.
The children in front of his were captured by his every move, their eyes wide and gleaming like gold pieces even though they had heard this story dozens of times. the adults weren't much better with the barman staying in his place with a half filled tankard still in his hand.

"Now what was the secret that the spirits told us?"

"Silver!" the crowd said, their voices little more then a whisper as if simply saying the name of the weapons would bring the beasts upon them again.

"Aye, silver!" Throg shouted, his voice hoarse.

"Like fire to flesh it was on the beasts! Like a tongue on frozen steel did they howl in pain during the night!

We finally had hope that we would survive, maybe even kill wipe out the very beasts themselves from the lands!"

The storyteller sighed and took a deep pull from his pipe, blowing out small smoky hoops into the air.

"We had hope....until he came"

"The Narvirin" the children whispered, their hands to their mouths with their eyes looking up to the ceiling.

"Was his ears pointed?" one of the smaller children asked eagerly, his voice little more then a squeak.

"That they were" he growled
"Pointed like the horns of Mehrunes Dagon himself! And his eyes glew redder then the very flasmes of Oblivion where devils and daedra rip the souls of the damned for eternity!" Thorg put his hands to his forehead and pointed them like horns and waggled his tongue at the crowd. The group laughed half heartedly and grouped in closer to hear more.

"He was a famous chap from where he came from sure, so we welcomed him with open arms thinking that perhaps he could help us in our crusade against the woves, but alas that was not meant to be"

Old Throg gave a weak smile toward the fire and nodded out towards the door.
"He became one of them of course, but stronger, ripping the flesh and blood of many of our countrymen and even taking the chieftain himself!

But Tharsten Heart-Fang was strong and brave and even though we never saw him again, I think that it be no coincidence that when he vanished so did the wolf men."

The crowd dropped their heads, the children too for they knew that such sacrifice was the reason why they were alive and it was their duty to teach this story to their own young in the coming years.

"And what happened to the Narvirin?" the Scotte asked, her rich blue eyes wide with fear.

"Died" the old storyteller said simply, "and if you ask me he was the one who caused all this mess, sided with the lizard folk mayhap and decided that all free men should suffer under his thumb." He said this very softly though, his cold eyes checking to see if and Dunmer were in the tavern, there were none and with that he took an easy breath. Sure enough though some of the people exchanged dark looks and, when realizing that the story was finished, edged out to rejoin their families.



"Could have gone without that..."I chuckled darkly, my back still against the thick wooden wall where I had placed it at the beginning of the night.

It didn't take long, as the locals began to move out of the small room that a Nord approached me.
"Jiub?" He asked.
I gave a curt nod and pulled up my robes slightly, revealing an ashen arm.

"Follow me" he whispered, pulling me out of the inn with a brisk walk.

Ah, so the Nerevarine was the cause of the scourge that haunted Thirsk not so long ago? How odd it must be to hear that story as the Nerevarine!

The power of the storyteller! No matter the culture, location, or time of year, a true storyteller can mesmerize his or her audience with the potency of words alone. The old Celts have the right of it, that mere words contain power. That much is clear here in the story of the storyteller.

I want to see where this story takes us next!

Ok guys, I hope you like the next part : )



[[Teinaava]]

I remember the first time I met the lizard king, it was nine years ago on a cold swampy night. The great tree where he had his home was still with an eerie silence. Arwen sent me up to him, in his light purple robes with his black scales like powdered ebony shining out from the light given by the nearby torches.
"Do you know why you are here?" he whispered quietly, his cold face looking out towards the window, green eyes unblinking at the hidden moons.

I shook my head softly.
The king turned and looked at me with a small weary smile, his young eyes seeming so old, so tired.
"You are here...because of your birth, because of the blood that binds you to this house and to the kingdoms service..."
He looked sadly at his own hand, raised up toward the sky, it vanishing beneath his gaze.
"As am I" he whispered.

Suddenly I heard a small whimper and I turned towards it to see a large bundle of rags that I had not noticed before.
Wait, there was something in those rags, the barest hint of ashen skin, the gleam of red eyes that have dimmed with cruelty and justice.

"Lord Tadave Dres" The King said silkily
"Was once the lord protector and governor of the Dunmer city of Tear...His treatment and capture of Argonian slaves at the border was..." The king swallowed a grin
"Legendary...Wasn't it Lord Dres.."
The Dunmer let out a small cry, covering his face with his hands, which I noticed looked mangled and fractured.
"Please.."

"Please?" the king asked, his voice rich with malice.
"Please what? You should be so proud of yourself, the hatchings and men and woman from our tribes that you stole... and of course when house Dres decided that they didn't want to take our people anymore, why you..."
He turned to look at me
"Decided to flee and pawn your interests to other rulers...unfortunately you were just unlucky enough to stray too close to the Argonia border..." the last words he said were clipped, tuned, the pleasure from his voice gone.

"You are bound to this kingdom Teinaava" the king whispered, "And this kingdom needs justice for what has happened to it..." he clicked his fingers, a dagger appearing in his hands with a swirled of green smoke.

"I trust you know what to do..." he whispered, handing me the blade.

I closed my eyes as I did the deed, but it didn't stop the screaming.

When I had finished the king smiled, not with his lips but with his eyes and I could feel his warmth go through my bloody skin.
You did a great deed today fellow shadowscale he said, waving his hand out toward the window.

"The mane has begun to attack again, taking the lands that the imperials robbed...I think it is time that we make the Dunmer apologise for centuries of torture, theft, slavery and murder.."
He extended his hand to me.

"Can I count on your help?" he whispered.

Circumstances brought me here to Vvardenfell, a land that apparently was damned and reeking of a great blight..that was banished away.

"It is good to see you my brother" a voice hissed behind me.
"So you are still alive Chalur? I chuckled gazing at the shadowscale before me, his green eyes glimmering with fear, or shame.

"IT was difficult to escape but Vivec is not the fortress it once was..."
I looked at him quizzically "You got in?"
"Not very far" Chalur growled.
"Those foolish guards saw me and attacked, they all weild life detecting amulets now, no doubt made my the mages who slipped through our fingers..."
"But you got it?"
Chalur looked at me, a mischievous gleam in his emerald eyes.
Without another word he plunged his hands into his robes and pulled out, very softly a thin roll of paper.
"The plan of the city" he whispered.
"The locations of the waist-works, the hidden passages in and out and of course where all of the wepons are stored..."

I gave him a cold smile and took it off him.

"And you are sure it is authentic?" I hissed

Chalur looked offended and pointed to a part where I just unrolled.
"I used that passage there to get out...so" he shrugged.

I gave him a small, cold smile.

"So this time next week?"

"Vivec will fall" he cooed.

"And the Dunmer will too..."

______________-

[[Furan]]

The Nord led me away from the village, past the snow capped huts and towards a great frozen lake.

Before long we stopped at a small hut that seemed to have built only recently,the Nord knocked three times and whispered softly though a slit in the door.
"It's us"
When the door opened the first thing I noticed was how empty it seemd to be, until my guide led to the fire place, pulling back the grate to reveal a freezing iron ladder extending down below.

"How clever" I muttered, allowing him to go first

The first thing that I had noticed when I arrived was the smell, it was like the slums of a massive town where the people didn't wash for months on end, where went to the toilet on the streets and carried on like they were animals.
However once my eyes got used to the darkness they widened.

Cages, 5 meters tall and twenty meters wide the bars were grimy and covered with muck, as I bent over to touch one I heard a roar and something pounded against the slim walls.

"Great, another Dunmer!" I heard a hiss, the voice heavy with irony.
She was a Khajiit, wrapped in dirty robes and she looked at me with fiery eyes.

"You are Jiub I presume?" he Cyrodiilic was perfect, the rasp of her voice almost completely gone.

She sighed and looked at me, "Just...don't touch the bars, the soldiers will get angry..."

"Soldiers?"

her eyes narrowed as she looked at me closely.
"Didn't Lock tell you?"
she clicked her fingers, light swirling around her hand so I could take a better look.
Inside was a mass of bristled hair, white fangs, claws sharp enough to break bone.
"It is our means of getting our country back" she whispered.

I took a gasp and stepped back.
They were breeding werewolves.

Wow!

how does one breed werewolves? I always thought those were created, not born. A question that may or may not be answered, it's up to you.

Do the Khajiit know what Pandora's Box they are opening with this venture? Another question that may or may not be answered.