Riden & Tess

Riden turned around, his face a blank expression, "You can bury whoever you want. I really don't care."

He turned back towards the forest and continued walking. Tess stood back, "Sorry about that...he's a bit er...annoyed from the conversation before. I'll help bury him if you want. " She gave the Imperial a light smile, "But please don't report him to anybody...for your sake."

Serene

So he's that type of man! Very well he'll soon be aware of who he's dealing with

Serene looked at Tess with a faint smile

"Thank you, I can need a hand with this, another thing though..I am not the least afraid of that ..that man of yours, just so you both know!"

"Ok then let's get on with this"

Shall I ask for help to carry the corpse or...shall I just do it myself? Better not reveal too much..yet

"Please gentlemen could you help me carry Arille inside? I need to prepare him for his last journey"

Kaye Soscean

Kaye watched Riden go with a heavy heart. He knew that he really shouldn't just watch the man go. He could not afford to let the assassin leave his sight. On the other hand, Tess had chosen to stay and do the proper thing. Riden would be back, if only for her.
"I will help, it is the least I could do." He therefore said and kneeled down to gently take Arille into his arms. Most of the eyes in twon were upon him, or upon the corpse he helt. It made him nervous and self-conscious but he swore not to show any of it. Right now, his duty to a man he'd never known was more important than his feelings regarding himself.
"Please lead the way, lady."

Riden & Tess

As Riden walked away, he could make out a few words Kaye had said, "Riden would be back, if only for her."

He mentally slapped himself, knowing that he would eventually return. Why not now? He trailed behind them, staying back but not caring to let his presence be known.

Tess walked silently with the others and finally spoke up, "You know, Riden isn't a bad guy...he's just doing his job."

The assassin hearing this, smiled a little and continued to trail the group.

Cyldreen Mon'cheri


The breton, to say the least, was frustrated.

In front of him was an impenetrable darkness, the torch was useless and to top it all off he can't cast a single night-eye or light spell. He sighed and went to another solution; use all of his reserves of magicka to enhance the torch's job. He did so and the light that surged from his fingertips to the wood revealed a room with a tomb on the sides. The walls were carved in to fit the grave, and by its sides were urns.

There was also a door by them, and seeing no other way to proceed, the breton went. Each step he took sent a unwanted shivers on his spine and dragons on his stomach. He could practically see the evil emanating from the warped wood for a door.

The source of this evil is there, waiting and preparing. I wonder who corrupted this tomb and turned it into a lair of the risen dead? A necromancer or something far more sinister? Whatever the case, I should proceed and end the kitty's test.

And as his hand touched the handle, he fought the urge to scream and grovel. His hairs were rigged, imaginary worms worked their way inside him and his gut were heavy with lead. He closed his eyes and tried to remember his training on Orsinium, but something kept him from doing so. Something held back the thoughts that would calm and enrage him. Something teased him into reaching the memories of hate and bloodlust, and when he can practically tap those emotions to his advantage something denied him the savage bliss of rage at the last minute. Something... Something... Something...

Sheer terror.

A malicious snarl borne out of fear came out of his mouth and he took a step backwards to kick open the door. The first thing he noticed was the odor that rammed itself at his nose. It was enough to make Malacath wrinkle his nose, and Cyldreen's eyes watered. But that wasn't the one that would gave him nightmares for the first time in a long time.

Bones were on top on each other, creating a perverted version of a hill. Skulls stared everywhere and nowhere, rib-cages that once held living organs now housed rotting intestines filled with sawdust and maggots. Flies were bustling joyously as they feast upon the remains of those who were dead. Torches made of flesh and burned with magical ashes that was once bones lined up in a line, revealing disgusting details not worth mentioning.

One noteworthy detail was at the center, however. A table, covered by tissues and bloodied veins knitted together to make a cloth, was sitting ten feet from Cyldreen and an alchemist' tools were all lined up. Mortars and pestles were numberless, as well as retorts and alcinators.

"I see we have a visitor.. I bid you welcome, adventurers. It is not often old Vaerecor have some ... guests to entertain," a tall figure emerged from the shadows and its body was covered in black rags that concealed the whole of the figure's body, making it hard to know its race. It's voice was painfully male, however and by the sing-song, dead-to-the-world haughtiness that rang from it, it made him a-

An Altmer. Even without the High Elves' trade-mark pointed ears, I can still distinguish them by the tone of their voice.

One interesting, if not morbid, aspect about the Elf was his eyes. The right one was like the deep sea; calm and treacherous, unknowable and unending. The other one rivaled the largest lakes at the Realm of Mehrunes Dagon. Crimson like blood, hot like the flames of Oblivion and forever raging. Just staring at it drained Cyldreen of his bravery.

It's like staring at Death before receiving His most beautiful Kiss...

"Ah.. A breton.. I have been tempted to go to High Rock just to test your kind," his voice was gravelly due to Time's Touch, but it still held a sense of beauty; like a summer day in a forest, hiding its most fatal predators. Then, the necromancer's attention turned to the one beside Cyldreen.

The Khajiit.

Nelacar

Nelacar was surprised that his words were heeded, and no blood was shed. He wasn't sure what Riden's definition of a 'good opportunity' was, but it was better than nothing. Not questioning his good fortune, he plodded along with the others to bury the trader. In any other situation, though, he would not be so peaceful. The sight of the dead altmer put a sour taste in his mouth, and the knowledge of how it happened made him sick.

One of my own, killed by a pathetic human with no fair fight.

Nelacar rolled his eyes when Tess began to defend Riden, and wanted nothing more than to tell her that her husband was a worm, and not even worth the dirt he crawled in. But it was not the time.

"That is a conversation for another time, girl. You disrespect the dead when you speak of his murderer."

Sa'Quira

Following Cyldreen through the door the most blood shilling smell came upon me. My ears lay flat against my head and the hair on my back stood up before the full realization hit me. Wrong, evil and undead were only a few of the words that went through my head at that moment. When the word blood came up, my lips drew back I bared my teeth for a growl before I was able to stop it.

Looking around in the suddenly brighter room, I saw the door that where only a few paces away from us. The stench was more concentrated around it, and I nearly reached out to stop Cyldreen. But the breton was already at the door.

"Hunter, if I survive finding the roots I'm settling down as a hunter. Shouldn't ever have accepted the job in the first place." I muttered quietly when he kicked in the door, leaving me with little choice but to follow.

I drew in a deep breath when I saw the pile of skeletons and the table in the middle. They could not hold my attention for long however, and when I looked around I saw the dark shadow standing by the wall, even with night eye I could barely see him. Apart from the somewhat glowing eyes. I tried to step back from it, but found that my body was paralyzed.

"I see we have a visitor.. I bid you welcome, adventurers. It is not often old Vaerecor have some ... guests to entertain," I did the only thing I could when the altmer stepped forward, stood still.

"Ah.. A breton.. I have been tempted to go to High Rock just to test your kind," It spoke to Cyldreen, before turning to me. "And a khajiit. I'd think all of your kind would be following the mane at this time." I felt as if though I'd shiver. He looked at me with something that could almost resemble a smile.

Cyldreen Mon'Cheri


The breton's breath stopped at his throat and all of his muscles stilled. Thoughts were blank and meaningless, emotions just obstacles in the way waiting to be broken. Conscience and reason held no point for him, and restraint was a poison, a forbidden fruit. Love was an imaginary belief, useful in some ways but always expendable. Good or evil were the makings of sacrosant and weak people, using those two as an excuse as a means to an end. Mercy was the deceiver and greatest liar of all, for those who lend 'mercy' are those of who are lesser stature, pawns of superior ones who didn't dare let 'mercy' go in the way of their goals and/or destiny. To clasp your wish is to be determined and emotionless, unrelenting and persistent. Like a landslide or a thunderstorm.

And what Cyldreen wanted was the necromancer in front of him to scream for mercy, and begging Cyldreen Mon'Cheri for restraint and peace when he's in the border of madness is comparable to a man wishing to be the Sun.

The Red Mist rosed and by this dark dawn rising in his mind, it overshadowed the spy's earlier fear, instantly taking its place along with never-ending hatred and barely contained rage. His iris shrank, sounds becoming mute to his ears and only the heaving breaths that he took was the only thing that entered the two chasm in his head.

"I will decorate this ancient walls with your entrails, weakling," his own voice was foreign, belonging to somewhere else but not in him. His tone was grating, like an axe scraping against razor or groups of teeth gnashing together to torment ears nearby with their uncomfortable sounds.

Then, without warning, Cyldreen sprang from his reverie and raised his axe for a slash, all the while howling like a frenzied Dremora. Vaerecor responded by sending some swarms of fire, balls of pure flame that exploded when it seared Cyldreen's armor. This further enraged the berserking Breton and he quickly closed the distance and sent his axe crushing down downwards, eager to split the Altmer's head in twain and make a river of brains and other gray matter.

When it did hit, it sent rumbling earthquakes on Cyldreen's arms and it nearly broke. Letting out a yell out of more-or-less anguish, the Breton struck again and again, and with each strike and collition at the barrier he ignored the lightning pain that it caused. Vaerecor relied on his Shield spell as he readied and charged a spike made of pure frost.

Finally, one strike sundered the spell completely and his axe buried deep on the mage's shoulder, netting a yelp of suprise and pain from the elf. Cyldreen laughed like a demon as he pulled his axe with blood spurting and staining his face, but one thing he missed was a fist frozen by magic heading for his jaw.
The force of the punch itself was not powerful, but the ice exploding sent severe anguish for Cyldreen. It didn't stagger him, but just enough for the necromancer to follow-up by spreading his palm in front of the dazed spy's face and muttering a lightning spell. That made Cyldreen stagger and cover his face in an attempt to ease the pain. By doing so, however, he was forced to drop his axe. The mage then raised his hands and by this he conjured up whatever magicka he had for a gigantic ball of chaotic energy.

Doing so however, disabled any spells he cast earlier on. Particulary, the paralyze spell pn Sa'Qin. The breton didn't notice it however, for the only thing that registered on his mind was hate.

"I will feast upon your intestines, elf!" the breton cursed as he ran without warning and tackled the Altmer to the bloodied ground, completely stopping the spell being thrown. The spy was the first to recover as he stood up and proceeded to stomp Vaerecor's head in. The mage anticipated this, for he grabbed Cyldreen's foot before it struck and sent his elbow against Cyldreen's knee. This made the man-mer lose balance, and land face-first beside the necromancer. Blood gushing forth from his nose, the breton shakily stood up before being flung to the wall by a lightning spell on his back. Once again, Cyldreen's face took the brunt of the damage, completely incacapating him.

OOC: The rest is all yours, S.

Kaye Soscean OOC: I'm taking a few liberties here, ok? Feel free to hand out your objections, suggestions and comments so I can edit later on if needed.

Serene led them into the trade house which, at this early hour, was still empty. Being a small town where everyone knew and trusted each other, the old trader had found little need to replace the worn out lock on the equally worn out door and Kaye had opened it easily after giving it a few nudges with his foot. Silently, he thanked the now lost tranquility of the town. The macabre prospect of rummaging through Arille's pockets for a key had been something he'd feared.

"Take him upstairs. He usual...used to rent out a room to travelers in the back. You can put him on the bed." Serene instructed. Kaye stumbled up the stairs without a word. He lowered the Altmer onto the bed, folded his hands across his chest in what was the proper burial posture in his land of origin, then stepped back to let the woman start her preparations.

Riden & Tess

Tess stared at the lifeless body of Arrile and for some reason, felt no regret. After 16 years of living with Riden, she learned to accept the daily and weekly deaths he did. But in any case, she still loved him and wanted to defend his right.

Riden looked from the stairwell and felt a bit of pride at seeing his work of art preserved like that. He didn't reveal himself but he knew that somebody probably heard him coming up the stairs.

Sa'Quira

I could do nothing but stare when Cyldreen charged towards the necromancer. By that time, his behaviour scared me almost as much as the undead of the tomb, but I managed to hide my fright.

Seeing the necromancer collect his powers, I suddenly felt my body leave it's paralyzed state, but there wasn't any time to react before a lightning spell hit Cyldreen in the back. What I did next I still don't understand. I should have ran, when faced with a choice between possible death or leaving someone else to die, I always chose the second option. But now, I didn't.

As the necromancer readied a dagger to finish Cyldreen of, I put a silver arrow to my bow, and shot. In the cramped space the arrow hit him hard in the left shoulder, causing the man to stagger. Then he turned towards me, preparing a spell. I put another arrow to my bow, and he interupted his spell to charge against me again. But I had already pulled the string back, and it hit him right in the chest.

I stood still for a moment, not daring to approach the altmer though I did not know how he could have survived it. When the necromancer didn't move, I turned my attention towards Cyldreen.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, kneeling beside him, unsure of how bad the damage was.

Cyldreen Mon'Cheri

Pain in my chest. Ripples of agony swimming across my whole body. Legs doesn't feel like it is there anymore. My eyes tried to open, but blinding light stopped the movement. Pain. I opened them and resisted the pain. Remember training. But... the darkness. The darkness looms over the sides of my eyes, and it doesn't go away. Go away. Make it go away! Its making its blasted way to fully blanket my sight! Somebody, help! No! No, no no!

A gasp made its exit from Cyldreen's mouth as he rose up into a fetal position. He hugged his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his ankles. Quivering rosy lips made whimpering noises as shameful tears rollled down from his eyes to his sharp cheek.

Star-shining eyes because of tears looked up to see.. Nothing. Bleakless, colorless lands, devoid of anything. Of life. Again, fear rose up to his throat that escalated into a wail. In this situation he felt completely hopeless and desperate for help. For anything. He felt like he was a child again, afraid of the dark. The only thing that gave him courage was his foster-father's encouraging words.

"Never be afraid of the dark, my child. Always know that Light follows."

"..Light...Follows."

---------------

Pain in my chest. Rotten smell of something dead. Ripples of agony swimming across my whole body. Sounds of someone saying some incoherent words.. Where am I? Am I dead?

Finally, the breton's eyes truly opened and the first thing his eyes laid upon was golden slits of orbs staring back at him. His first reaction was this was the eyes of a demon that needed to be slain. Until he finally realized that this was the Khajiit, Sa'Qin. He tried to sit up and examine his wounds, but a nerve-wracking pain that erupted in his neck made lay still, groaning in agony. His training kicked in and pain in him became pleasure and Cyldreen thrived upon the unpleasant feeling.

I love thi- wait. I'm supposed to be dead, supposed to not feel pain. Well, if the afterlife is doing what you should've done in real life, then I'll play along.

"Damn it, I'm supposed to be dead! I even heard my father's voice, and he's supposed to be dead! Oh, well."
he morbidly joked to the Khajiit infront of him. "If you tell me I'm actually alive and breathing, I swear, I'm going to the Nine's realm and complain that this isn't funny."

------------

Sa'Quira

I raised my hand to touch the breton just as he gasped, and instead I waited. Tears came from his eyes, and they both surprised and disturbed me. How should I, whom have never done a caring act in my whole life, and have shied away from those who wanted to care for me, react in such a situation? I did not know, and so I simply waited.

When his eyes finally opened, he did not seem to know me, but then a look of recognition came into them. When he spoke a bad joke came out, and I almost laughed.

"Could you wait with that until after we've found the roots? Or at least until the others have seen that you're alive? I don't think they'll trust me if I return without you and tell them that you're meeting the nine." I said smiling, but then continued more seriously. "You need a healing potion or something, do you have any with you?"

Cyldreen Mon'Cheri


So I am alive. Damnit.

The breton, still near Death's door, looked at the khajiit beisde him. In all honesty, he can't believe that she managed to kill the necromancer who took this cave as his infernal lair. He, who managed to knock a breton's consciousness away from him with a spell, was felled by a roguish khajiit.

I've seen stranger things, I guess.

Shaking away such irrelevant thoughts, he brought his hand to his neck, grasped it with a firm grip and muttered the words of healing. Instantly, he felt as if cold water was thrown at him followed by a sensation of aetherial massaging. His injuries healed before him.

"Not that I would waste such valuable potions after a fight, but I'm not exactly invincible like a dunmer demigod. Could you please help me stand up? After that, though, I could do the rest myself." courage shined his words, and it will take perceptiveeyes to see through Cyldreen's facade. In truth, he said this to regain some of his dignity.