Welcome one and welcome all to the continuation of Light through Darkness!

For those of you only now joining us, here is the link to our previous thread:

Light through Darkness, Book 1

Enjoy your stay! All comments and criticisms are welcome.

@haute ecole rider: Magical lore is one of the many things I wanted to tackle in this tale. It is a way of getting my brain in gear, thinking about how I can make a gameplay change actually fit into the lore of the story, so I quite enjoy doing that. As for Dere, don't worry, he's landing in a cave, so he should be alright.

@Lady Syl: Thank you much for your approval of the Recommendation system. That brawl also served a very specific purpose: it let the reader know the Oblivion Main Quest would be taking place in this story, but not through the eyes of my protagonist. That is why I elected to have Julian make a cameo there, it would help to reaffirm that point.

@SubRosa: Interesting letters, I can definitely make something out of those. Ideas have already come to me, but I wouldn't tell even if you tied me to a chair and whipped me. I'm actually playing more on the game's version of Irlav, it makes sense to me that he would be a huge slowpoke who doesn't really have any passion but for making students' lives miserable.
Nit be picked.

@mALX: No, I guess Maxical's contempt for clothing might not be so bad anymore. I'm sure she would adore these Stepstones as they are right now.

@Acadian: Well still, Mer can get impatient, too. You of all people would understand this.
Nits be picked.

@all: A new thread brings new beginnings. But what will these new beginnings mean for our characters, or for Derelas? Only time will tell.

next: Welcome to Anvil, city of the sea.

Light through Darkness, Book Two

After sloshing my way out of the giant pool of black water illuminated only by the playful flames of my torch, I was feeling quite grateful I wasn’t wearing any shoes. Nevertheless, it was a highly unpleasant feeling for my legs to become so wet so suddenly, and not just because the water was so cold. As I pulled my shoes back on over my flax socks, it started to occur to me that this probably was not the worst I could expect from these Stepstones. The frayed and cracked surface of the stone that received me made me rather certain that it was not supposed to be here. What sort of cataclysm might have transformed what was once a verdant hillside into a musty cave full of tidewater was not something that thrilled me to ponder, but that was hardly the point. If I were to be using these things, there was no telling where I would end up. The only silver lining I had was that they were scattered all over the place; you could find them in farmer’s fields, up on top of the Colovian Highlands, and, as I learned today, perhaps even at the bottom of the sea. Just to use one would be to gamble my life away, assuming they still worked, of course.

Once I finished pulling my shirt back on, I made my way to the small door where the water was only just flowing through the tiny gap between the damp wood and the glistening ground. The water was actually noticeably lower than when I arrived as well. Looks like the the tide was going out -- Anvil was a coastal city, after all, so it would make sense. I placed my palms onto the moistened boards and pushed.

The door did not respond. Two more pushes and some pounding later, and still nothing had changed. Trapped, perfect.

The floor ran completely dry as I contemplated what to do now. I couldn’t burn the wood, as it was far too wet. My only chance would be to break the door down, but I didn’t have anything quite heavy enough in my pack. And all that was in here in this cave were a few moldy old barrels and crates, hardly what I’d call destructive weaponry.

I then noticed the door had a handle. Gnashing my teeth at my oversight, I promised myself that no one would ever know of this as I pulled the door wide.

The time I spent awash in my ignorance (literally) coupled with the sheer distance traveled meant that the sky was now turning orange in the rays of the setting sun. Never before had I witnessed such a brilliantly vivid complexion upon the sky. The majesty was mirrored upon the lazily sloshing waves of the ocean, and the air was filled with the squawking calls of seagulls. To my left stood a great limestone cliff face, roughly hewn and treacherous with water roaring into rapids and out of blowholes along the base. To my right, I could just make out the tops of huge redwood trees along a similarly rocky coastline, and the slowly panning beam of the nearby lighthouse finished the scene. It was one I was quite sure numerous painters had taken upon themselves to recreate on canvas; never before had I had such a spectacular view.

The great spires of Castle Anvil loomed behind me, their cast shadows reaching clear to the other side of the nearby lagoon separating the two shorelines. They were so tall I could barely see the top of them from where I stood, as I would probably crick my neck if I tried to look any higher. As I made my way along golden-grassed and rocky shoreline of what I came to realize was a small island, the walls of Anvil came into view. The walls themselves were nothing special; it was the watchtowers that set them apart. Each tower was topped with a great conical roof, all with tiling to match the sky. The sun-kissed stucco walls beneath the roofing gave them a whitewashed sheen of which the Ayleids would be proud could they have seen them.

The great dual steeples of the Anvil chapel rose above the great brown stone of the walls with such elegance and grace they looked to be dancing with the clouds. Every last inch of the cathedral I could see that was not covered in vibrant stained glass or brilliantly orange roofing was covered in miniature statues, likely of the Nine Divines, as I could not see any faces from my distance. The chapel was easily four times the size of Bravil’s Chapel of Mara, with over twice the number of windows and buttresses, and more steeples and spires than a man could shake a stick at. Instead of one rose window, there were three, and every pointed archway, every toll of the deep, vocal bells spoke of flamboyance and grandeur – of the city that surrounded it.

Screenshot

As I made my way across the bridge leading from the castle to the city proper, I glimpsed a strange sight in the distance. The top of a high mountain peak had been blackened, and I could just barely make out a set of crumbling stone walls, as they were practically camouflaged by the ground and trees – Kvatch. They were still smoking. The sight was a blistering reminder of the reality surrounding the glowing, beautiful façade of Tamriel: danger is everywhere, and can strike at any time. Kvatch was unprepared, and they paid the price for it, but I couldn’t ever feel that they deserved what had happened to them.

Passing through the city gates, I was immediately brought to the courtyard surrounding the grand cathedral. Every inch of land that was not paved was covered in a lovingly kept bed of velvety golden grass, and unlike in Bravil, none of the tombstones in the graves had been allowed to crumble. Across the street, just north of the numerous fountains and gardens in Chapel Parkway (if the signs were to be believed), I saw yet another peculiar sight spoiling what was otherwise an untold majesty. It was a celebration of architecture and nature coming together as one in the autumn breeze here in this courtyard, but just this one sight removed all pretenses this city had to splendor. A manor house stood nearby, squalid, unkempt, and crumbling in the salty air. Every last one of the numerous vines snaking their way up the fragile walls was dead, and the roofing had fallen off in numerous places.

“Quite an eyesore isn’t it?” A voice came from behind, making me jump.

A guard clad in embroidered orange leather had come up behind me as I stared transfixed at the rapidly splitting personality of the city of Anvil. For I could just make out the High Street from behind the cathedral now, and I saw that for every majestic manor and shop, there stood another crumbling slum. It was like the city was at war with itself, fighting for whether its beauty or its sheer despicable squalor would dominate its walls; as if it refused to admit to itself that the splendor I saw from afar was little more than a farce.

“Owner’s been trying to sell that dump for a month now,” the guard continued, casting a contemptuous look back at the dilapidated house. “I have to say, I’ll be quite surprised if he can even give that place away, it’s such a blight.”

“I’ll say,” I responded, eyeing an upturned rubbish bin nearby.

“You new in town?” The guard then asked.

“Very,” I replied, “and I’ll need a little help figuring out where everything is.”

“Well, we patrolmen have got to do something,” the guard responded with pomp. “What are you looking for?”

“The nearest inn,” I replied, “and the Mages and Fighters Guilds.”

“The Count’s Arms is the best inn in the city,” the guard replied, indicating a large, well kept building a ways up Abecea Walk. “Ask for Wilbur, he’s the publican.”

“And the guilds?” I asked.

“Yokuda Loop, just across from Sea Queen statue,” the guard replied. “They’re both right beside each other, so you can’t miss them.”

“Thanks for the help,” I finished, waving a quick farewell to the guard.




----




A man in a black cloak arrived at the small wooden door, and it opened the instant he knocked.

“Ahh, Lucien,” the Dunmer greeted the shifty man warmly, allowing him to step inside. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“As I noticed,” the man returned. His voice carried a hint of malice and mystery that he was incapable of fully hiding. “So, for what have you summoned me, Tadrose? The journey was long and I am quite tired so do please try to remain brief.”

“You know why you are here.” Tadrose replied, offering a goblet of deep violet wine to the man named Lucien, which he accepted after a mild bout of consideration. “Your Brotherhood has been giving us quite a hard time as of late.”

“We are assassins, it is our business to interfere with your noble callings,” Lucien retorted smoothly. “I expect your plans have held up, all the same?”

“Yes, our mutual friend is safe in Anvil now,” Tadrose replied. “And I am going to need your help to keep it that way.”

“You would ask me to commit treason against my order?” Lucien questioned, cautiously but unfazed as a faint smile came to his lips.

“If it is not too much trouble for you,” Tadrose briskly responded, raising her own goblet of wine to her lips. “There is a man of some stature under your command, one Vicente Valtieri, I was wondering why he called for the death of our friend.”

“He fears what he might become,” Lucien replied. “He would rather see our friend dead than allow him to be given an audience with the Vampire Lord. He knows of what the Lord carries, and he knows that our friend is the only one capable of taking it from him. Naturally, he hastened to preserve his own life.”

“And you allowed this?” Tadrose interrogated.

“To refuse him would have compromised my comfortable position as Speaker for Cheydinhal,” Lucien replied smoothly, “I deemed it prudent.”

“Then I hope you have given some thought as to how you might reverse this problem you’ve caused for us?” Tadrose responded, her eyebrows narrowing. “I do not think our masters would particularly enjoy being told by you that one of your assassins managed to pierce our friend’s heart in the night.”

“And given their prodigious skill, I am quite surprised that he still yet lives.” Lucien added.

“Really?” Tadrose inquired, a dangerous note in her voice.

“There may have been some tipping of the scales in Vergayun,” Lucien responded, still unfazed. “That much I will tell.”

“But can you, or can you not make this contract vanish?” Tadrose pressed. This time, Lucien did smile.

“There is a certain exploit I might be able to take advantage of,” he replied, draining his goblet.

Congratulations on Book 2! I appreciate your recap very much.

In Chapter 7.2, the open-ended deal with Kud-Ei shows us just how threatened Dere must feel. Now what does she want?? It must be pretty dangerous.

In Chapter 7.3:
“Find an Ayleid ruin, look for stepstones, and make an attempt to use them,” Kud-Ei responded. “All the details you need are in the book.”
Yep, dangerous. And it sounds like Delphine can also make chickens explode.
the stark reality dawned on me.

And currently:
What sort of cataclysm might have transformed what was once a verdant hillside into a musty cave full of tidewater
Love the lore reference! Your description of Anvil is magnificent, right down to the squalor that becomes visible up close. Tadrose and Lucien’s conversation was intriguing. A glimpse of so much more to follow, without fully revealing anything!!

Congratulations on your second thread!

I enjoyed your description of Derelas's first impression of Anvil. Of course, it is not the same as Julian's, but then, she grew up there, so her memories are likely stronger.

Loved your use of Chartres Cathedral for the Chapel of Dibella! But why are they called Chapels instead of Cathedrals? I guess we haven't moved past the stage of character limits (just look at Twitter!).

I did spot an awkward sentence: First, I think the 'a' can just float right on out with the tide. The entire sentence is long and awkward. You use as well and after all in rather close proximity - both phrases serve very similar functions. I think you can break this up into two sentences and eliminate either one: The water was now noticeably lower than when I arrived. Apparently the tide was on its way out - Anvil was a coastal city after all.

Such a delightful start to the new thread. And the plot thickens even further!

Thank you for ending book one with a recap of what happened in all your chapters! That is very useful, and it allows me to catch up for the time being! In time, I will read through all the chapters, but I can stay current and not have to worry about catching up, so I can read the first book in my own time. I will happily join the rest of you now in book 2, and not be so far behind!

EDIT: Well now I have read this first part of chapter 8, and as always, your descriptions are incredible! Anvil at sunset is an amazing sight. And I love how you made the chapel of Dibella larger and more distinct, so that it's not as if they all look the same. Thanks for the shot of that beautiful French cathedral, btw. I love the gothic French cathedrals of old.

So, will Lucien actually go against his order to help Derelas keep his life? Of course, an excellent cliffhanger--just leave us all hanging!

Great idea doing those summaries at the end of the last thread !!!


ARGH! Came up from Marseille through Lyon to Paris, missed this beautiful Cathedral !!! Did you get to walk the Labyrinth? See the Sancta Camisia?

*

Uh Oh! Trapped like a rat !!! Wonder how high that tide gets when it comes in?



ROFL !!! No one but all of us, Dere !!!

*

GAAAAH!! What is Tadrose involved in ? Is Lucien's "exploit" going to be the "purge?" GAAAAH !!! Cliffhanging !!!


*

I then noticed the door had a handle.
Poor Derelas!

Once Derelas was able to escape his near prison, you treated us to quite the stunning view of Anvil. Just looking at the city through Derelas's eyes, we see that it is a place of great wealth and prosperity. Quite the contrast to Bravil! Yet marring the picture perfect scene is the smoldering ruin of Kvatch. Just as Derelas thought to himself, proof that one is never truly safe in Tamriel.

our mutual friend is safe in Anvil now
Our? Derelas certainly has friends in strange places!

Well, you certainly thickened the stew with the second half of this episode! Tadrose is in cahoots with Lucien Lacroix? Interesting indeed! Teresa had better be careful!

I agree that Dere overlooking the door handle was a great addition to his arrival to Anvil!

Across the street, just north of the numerous fountains and gardens in Chapel Parkway (if the signs were to be believed),
This is a very clever way to introduce us to some street names and make it crystal clear how Dere gained the knowledge. Similar nice touches when the guard introduced some more street names.

And the DB makes an open entrance!

which he accepted after a mild bout of consideration
Lucien taking the wine was nicely written and extremely easy to visualize.

@Grits: I'm glad you appreciated the recap. This is the main reason I am splitting the story across multiple threads, as it allows for newcomers an easier way to catch up with the plot and it also allows me to consolidate my recaps. Your words are quite appreciated, and I'm quite happy you are intrigued by the sudden appearance of Lachance.

@rider: Chapel? Cathedral? Those poor Cyrodiilians never seem to make up their mind! In this case, we are certainly looking at a true cathedral. Unfortunately, it would not be a very good idea to mod that into my game, since... well, the size of one Gothic cathedral is roughly the size of an entire city ingame!
Nit be picked.

@Lady Syl: Glad you appreciated the recap, as well, and also that you found it so useful. Thank you for your kind words. As for Lucien... you'll see.
Feel free to comment on any previous chapters, as well. I appreciate any and all feedback, no matter how far back it goes.

@mALX: Never been to France, unfortunately. I did pay a visit to Espana, though, it was quite impressive to see how Christian and Moorish architecture came together in their cathedrals.

@SubRosa: Yes, Derelas sure does have strange friends, and well connected ones at that. And thickening stew? I prefer roux, but occasionally slurry at home. Once it lightly coats the back of your spoon, you're done. I like to translate that into my writing, as well, and I'm quite happy you noticed.

@Acadian: Glad my door handle mishap was well received. We all have to slip up somewhere, right? Thank you for you kind words on my characterization of Lucien, he was quite a lot of fun to write.

@all: Now we have thrown the Ancient and the Brotherhood off the trail of our Bosmer, it's time to set ourselves free once again. Adventure awaits, and danger around every bend. I also notice that my intro here was decidable similar to my intro to the complete story. Quite a coincidence, if I may say so....

next: Ayleid ruins beckon...






“Garlas Agea,” the Altmer magister replied to the question I posed to her. “Up in the hills east of town.”

I thanked her and turned to leave, but before I could exit, the Altmer beckoned my ears back to her with another question.

“Why exactly do you wish to go there, Associate? You know very well the dangers inherent to those ruins. Certainly our library would suffice your studies?”

“Unfortunately, it can’t,” I replied back with a wry smile. “Books can only get me so far right now.”




----




The crumbling, yet still gleaming stone arches curving to an elegant point at the tip loomed out of the rolling golden grasslands. There it was, I thought, right where Carahil said it would be. This was the closest Ayleid ruin to Anvil, and the best place for me to begin my quest. The looming, regal cathedral of Dibella towered above the great walls not too far off in the distance, dwarfed only by the nearby island castle. Even from afar, one could see the bustle and hubbub of the harbor. It is said that Anvil Bay is the busiest port in all of Cyrodiil, and today it was certainly looking the part. No fewer than twenty grand galleons were moored, towering over many hundreds of trade cogs and fishing trawlers zipping in and out of port into the grand Abecean Sea. The great waters stretched on and on across the never-ending expanse of Mundus, and was broken only by a small island rising from the vast blue waters just on the horizon. From this distance, one would never notice the dank, secretive poverty the city tried so desperately to hide.

Tearing my eyes away from the mesmerizing sight, I turned back to the sun-kissed ruins before me. The arches were bent to odd angles, recalling my thoughts to the cave in which I arrived. Thousands of years of cataclysm and upheaval had shaped the world between the time of the Ayleids and the time of the Septims. Nothing would be as it once was. The portcullis into the hillside glinted in the morning sun, beckoning me forward, and who was I to disobey its calling?

My eyes were cloaked in blackness as the door swung open at my lightest touch. I carefully closed it behind me so as not to disturb any of the residents I knew would be within, and the darkness became complete. I swung my pack down to retrieve my torch, and that’s when I saw a most peculiar sight.

The Kissing Mares Blade was gleaming at my side, as if it were still broad daylight within. I gripped the hilt, and drew the gleaming silver blade, slightly curved and viciously sharp on one end, and listened to an unnaturally loud blade song that reverberated throughout my ears. As it sang, the blade began to glow a blindingly white, and a split-second later the entire chamber was bathed in white-orange light.

I froze. I was not alone in the chamber I just entered. There was a woman, Breton, by the looks of her, and she was clad in a black robe emblazoned with blood-red skulls.

Necromancers.

I was at a loss over what I should do. I was certain she had seen me, I mean, how couldn’t she? The entire chamber was bathed in light as if midday sun was penetrating through the rock and stone. At the same time, she was acting very strange; she was squinting like she was blinded. Perhaps the sudden illumination dazzled her? No, if that were the case, she’d be shielding her eyes….

“Hmm, whatever it was, it’s gone now,” she suddenly spoke, turning her back to the door.

I then had an epiphany. Only I could see the light my blade was providing. To her, it was still pitch black inside, and I was lesser to her eyes than the shadow of a ghost. I slowly eased my breath from my lungs, and took a short time to consider my options. She was a necromancer, and I was trespassing in their lair. This meant that if she did see me, I would be met with open hostility. Necromancers are not known for their hospitality, though I am told their welcoming committees are quite spectacular. Not this time, though. My only adversary was convinced it was just a lowly traveler peeking inside, nothing to worry about. She hadn’t even bothered to light her own gaze or investigate properly. Her mistake would be short-lived.

Creeping forward so to mask my footsteps, I inched my way towards the turned back of the necromancer. The foul stench of rotten flesh made itself well known as I closed distance with her. Revulsion stole through me as I halted, a burning hatred for their desecration of the dead, of the spirits who had earned a peaceful rest. I slowly rose, and in one smooth movement, I brought my right hand to cover her mouth, as my sword rose to her throat in my left.

The keen edge was stopped only by her spine as it drank of her foul blood, though it carried not a drop of the tainted liquid upon its gleaming silver visage. Her scream went unheard, and her death came before she even noticed the blade cleaving her neck.

“Walk with those you’ve defiled,” I whispered, easing her to the ground, “and give back to the dead what you stole from them in life.”

The sickly sweet odor of rotting flesh was soon replaced with the acrid scent of the same thing burnt, and the wound on the necromancer’s neck was smoking as I removed my sword. Though her throat was slit to the bone, no blood found its way out; the heat of the blade had thoroughly cauterized the wound. I was highly thankful for this, as it would mean less blood for me to have to wash out of my clothing when I was done in here. Searching her pockets, I found a small bagful of healing and Magicka potions, as well as a small coinpurse jingling with silver Drakes. Leaving the body, I continued onwards.

The chamber I was in split off to three small hallways. The ones on either side of me remained rather level, but the one directly in front of me sloped up with a set of stairs. I chose that pathway, hoping that whatever was on the other end, it might give me a decent view from which I might figure out what I could do… and perhaps allow me a better chance of finding some Steps.

The stairwell led to a balcony overlooking a large central chamber. Thanks to the illumination provided by the saber in my hand, I could see every detail from wall to wall. There were several alcoves inside, and no less than three necromancers patrolled the area. Each was carrying a staff that was having a strange effect on the light my sword provided. The colors were acting very strange around the mages; one was bathed in blue, and another in green. Their staves were probably enchanted in a similar manner to my blade, only not quite as discretely. I then wondered if it would be possible to turn off the lights for a moment, just to be sure of my thoughts.

Completely on cue, the light vanished, leaving a compressing and disorienting darkness like a veil upon my eyes. However, now I could see that my thoughts were true. It would be a lot more difficult to sneak up on these necromancers; they were ready for trouble, and the Altmer wandering with them looked quite nasty. It would probably be best for me to stay out of that chamber for now. The good news was that the passage I was crouching in now encircled the entire room, so it would be quite easy for me to continue exploring without risking my life. I requested the Kissing Mares illuminate my path once again before I continued.

To my right was a strange cask similar to the ones I saw in Henantier’s Dreamworld… no, Vaermina’s Oblivion. It was small, eight-sided, and crafted from what looked like dark gray glass, but from what my father had told me they were actually Onyx. Upon lifting the lid, a bright blue glow washed over my face, and I gazed down upon a small pile of similarly colored coins unlike anything I had seen before. Each and every one glinted and glittered even though, to them, there was almost no light to reflect, and they each carried the symbol of a pointy-eared Mer being lifted into the heavens by a great eagle. This must be Ayleid currency, I thought.

I gathered the coins into my purse and quietly replaced the lid on the cask before moving on. The passage curved lightly to the left as I made my way around. About halfway from one side to the other after the turn, another passage branched off to another flight of stairs. Deciding I would come back to it later, I continued to move forward.

Suddenly, I felt a very hard object smash into the back of my skull. Stars winked into view before my eyes as my blade left my hand, and I was soon blinded by the lightshow upon blackness; my blade’s luminance had gone out. Flipping over, I saw a tall figure bathed in bright blue light standing over me, his illumination staff poised to strike, and electrical sparks building in his free hand.

“Well, well, looks like we have a new plaything,” the Altmer commented in a cackling voice. “Too bad this dolly’s still stuffed. No matter, we can fix that in a trice.”

My sword clanged loudly as he kicked it away. He then raised his hand to cast the spell he had readied – readied to shock my heart to stillness.

Oooh, a cliffie!

I loved your description of Anvil from a distance, especially with the number and variety of ships in the harbor. In-game all the NPC's behave like it's a beachfront resort, but you and I know it is the busiest and hardest-working place in town. There's ships to unpack and repack, there's goods to move off the docks and to bring up onto the docks, there's papers to shuffle and officials to bribe, and the list goes on . . . It's hard to imagine anything busier than a seaport in all of Tamriel.

Don't leave us hanging for too long - we wanna know what happens next!

the Altmer beckoned my ears back to her
This is a wonderful play on words here, especially considering how wood elf ears are so prodigious.

Derelas' observation that Anvil is not only a busy port (but shouldn't the busiest be Cyrodiil City? I would expect that is where everyone in Tamriel is either going to or coming from), but also hides a dark underbelly. Even at the height of the British Empire, London had gigantic slums. The same can be said for Rome, Carthage, and all the capitals and major cities of great nations.

Quite a neat sword that Derelas has there, creating light that only he can see. And it does fire damage as well. That is quite handy. The necromancers having staves with similar effects was an especially good touch. One mistake many fan fic writers make is to never acknowledge that the protagonist is not the only one to use magic that is useful, such as detect life, invisibility, etc...

Oh noes, poor cliff is hung again too! By an Altmer no less!



nits:
No fewer than twenty grand Galleons were moored
I do not believe you want galleons to be capitalized, as you are not using it as a proper noun.

a pointy-eared Mer
This seems redundant. Are not all mer pointy eared?

Isn't that a line from "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory?" GAAAH !!! (Just kidding)

As SubRosa said, you had many picturesque phrases in this chapter - regardless of the gross subject matter, lol. She quoted my favorite line as well.

Great Write !!!

Several very effective images brought to vivid life here, ranging from the description approaching the ruin, to slitting the necromancer's throat. Let me quote only one such gem:
To her, it was still pitch black inside, and I was lesser to her eyes than the shadow of a ghost. I slowly eased my breath from my lungs, and took a short time to consider my options.

That does indeed sound like quite a wondrous sword Dere now wields!

And you leave us with poor Dere in a shocking predicament!

Nit: “Garlas Agea” the Altmer magister replied to the question I posed to her. “Up in the hills east of town.”
I would recommend a comma after Agea to introduce the speech tag that follows.

Ahh! Another cliff hanger! *glares at you with arms crossed*

“Walk with those you’ve defiled,” I whispered, easing her to the ground, “and give back to the dead what you stole from them in life.”
I LOVED this line. Excellent! ^^

The Kissing Mares have fire damage to go with their hot name! I enjoyed experiencing each revelation with Derelas as he discovered what his blade can do.

The images you created of color and light in the darkness made me read this section more than twice. And each time finds Dere still on the floor! I’m so glad you finished your mod, congratulations. And hint, hint...

@rider: Unfortunately, I did leave you hanging for a rather long time. Apologies, but I got a bit sidetracked, what with my new mod and school winding down, I had a lot to deal with over the past few weeks. I'm back now, though, and ready to continue things along. I'm glad you enjoyed the picture I pained of Anvil.

@SubRosa: Indeed, Cyrodiil City is the busiest city in Tamriel, remember I haven't yet shown you the Waterfront down their way (but I did show that it was quite crowded, remember?). Anvil is the major port-of-call for Hammerfell and High Rock, and so receives about as much business as the Waterfront does because ship captains don't want to have to go all the way around the Niben just to deliver their goods, after all.

@mALXicoon: If you want to view paradise, simply look around and view it! Anything you want to, do it! Want to change the world? There's nothing to it!

@Acadian: Unfortunately, things are about to get even more shocking for Dere. I am humbled that you enjoy the writing so much, thank you so much for your words!

@Lady Syl: Okay, okay! I'll get with the program, my demented Duchess!

@Grits: I didn't call it Light Through Darkness without reason, you know! Wow, I'm so glad you liked that installment so much! Thank you for your kind words.

@all: Time to break out of this latest hiatus. Sorry it took so long to get this segment out, but I had prior commitments to attend to.

next: We are in a pickle, how will we escape from these vile necromancers now?






My vision returned. I was staring at the dark stone ceiling of a chamber I could not hope to determine the location of. The ominous flickering of red-orange flames, licking away the darkness with their own shadowy light, lit the chamber. As my vision slowly sharpened, so did a searing, yet blunt pain in my chest. Looking down at my torso, I could see my clothing had been removed, and the pain was originating from an angry red burn in the center of my chest, coupled with an odd tingling feeling that spread from my bones to my fingertips. I tried to move one of my arms to cover the burn, but I couldn’t. I had been bound to the stone plinth upon which I lay, as well as disrobed and disarmed. If there was ever a time that I would feel such helplessness and fear for my life, it was now.

There was chanting nearby. No fewer than six necromancers had gathered in the chamber. Their heads were bowed, and their words spoken in a black language I could not understand a word of. I recognized the Altmer who had bested me; it wasn’t too hard, given his height, and also because he had belted my blade around his waist. The sight nearly sickened me with rage. Seeing such filth wear my father’s sword was despicable beyond words to my eyes.

“Release me, you s’wit! Let me go!” I exclaimed, struggling against my bonds as hard as I dared.

“Silence!” The Altmer responded in a commanding tone, sending a cascade of bright green energy into my body that caused my voice to evaporate and my muscles to harden like stone. Unable to move or speak, all I could do now was watch, and wait for a torturous undeath to take me into her cold, frail arms.

“Sylvia,” The Altmer spoke again, this time to a Bosmer dressed as he was, “prepare our guest.”

The Bosmer approached, but as she did, I saw something different about her. She did not carry herself with the ostentatious, proud gait the rest of the dark wizards did. Rather, hers was lithe and graceful, and her eyes carried not mockery, but determination. When she was but inches from me, she spoke to me in a barely audible whisper….

“Do not struggle—yet. I can release you from here, but only if you do exactly as I say.”

She slipped a small dagger beneath my arm, completely hidden from view of the other wizards. As she did, I felt the blade snag at the ropes that bound me, and cleanly cut through them. She masked the movement by then bringing her hand down to her side to retrieve her own dagger--an ornately carved silver blade.

“When I tell you, cut yourself loose with this. Until then, remain still and say nothing.”

I blinked my acquiescence, and she gave a small nod in return. She then brought her dagger up with a flourish, and then back down onto my skin. White-hot pain gripped my body as she carved into my flesh. Blood began to weep from cuts just deep enough that they would scar. After several moments, she stepped back, and I was left to admire the ritual glyphs she had carved upon my chest. This time, the Altmer stepped forward, slowly drawing his blade… no, my blade, and ready to skewer me on the tip of it. Though frightened beyond all comprehension, I still kept my now unbound right hand resolutely still, waiting either for the Bosmer’s word, or the very last second I would have before death.

What I next heard was a wild cry of pain and shock as a long, slender saber’s tip appeared before my eyes penetrating his stomach. This one did not shine with the same vigor as my own, but I could still detect a similar delicate beauty in its craftsmanship. The dripping blood only barely avoided contact with my hand, which was now taking up the small knife the Bosmer had hidden beneath my wrist with all the due haste I could muster. The air began crackling with electricity as the remaining necromancers readied spells to shock their new traitor into submission as the knife in my hand sliced through the ropes binding my hands and feet.

The Bosmer quickly turned, shielding herself from the five massive shock spells sent barreling her way with the body of the Altmer. The air around him exploded as his robes were set aflame by the heat and magnitude of the spells. The wood elf behind him was blasted backwards into the plinth. Quickly regaining her footing, she kicked the Altmer’s body away into the arms of another necromancer, who yelled out in shock as he jumped out of the way. I had now leapt up from my prison, and was now standing next to my Bosmer savior with my father's blade back in my hands. The chamber was now bathed in light, and my blade gleamed with heat, ready to slay those who had threatened its master.

The knife I was grasping in my left hand disappeared from my grip as the Bosmer snatched it away. She then threw it with carefully controlled force into a necromancer who was readying another bolt of lightning to cast. It hit him, blade first, clean in the neck. He fell to the ground, blood gurgling in his throat and spilling out of his mouth, as the two of us then stepped forward to charge down the remaining four wizards. The first to fall by my hand was the one who had nearly received the flaming body of the Altmer in his hands. Before he could find his footing again, my blade sliced twice through his pelvis and once across his neck, sending him to the ground in a blaze. I quickly grabbed his staff from his slackened grip and threw it at the next nearest necromancer to myself. It smacked into the female Breton’s head with a satisfying thunk, forcing her gaze away and breaking her concentration on the spell in her hand, which then fizzled and died. Unfortunately, she was not the only one aiming for me, and immediately after, I received another immensely painful shockbolt to my chest. The intense pain hit me like a stabbing knife and a thuggish punch at the same time, and I was barely able to keep my feet. The intense pain was coupled with the odor of burnt flesh and a noticeable tingling throughout my body. Wasting no time, I leapt up to the necromancer I had unbalanced with the thrown staff, and sent my blade slicing through her wrist. Her casting hand then parted company with the rest of her arm as she screamed in agony, but I would hear none of it, for I was already advancing on the wizard who had shocked me half to death.

Two things then happened at once. First, he conjured a white spell from his staff which smashed into me with the force of a barrel thrown by a giant. As I was knocked off my feet, completely winded, a visceral slashing noise, followed by his buckling legs, told me that my Bosmer partner had just hamstrung him. The body of another necromancer lay nearby, his head lolling ominously, only just still connected to his body by the smallest bit of skin and sinew as blood pooled around him. As the necromancer who had knocked me back fell to his knees, the Bosmer pulled his head back with all her strength, and sliced through his throat with her sword. Drips of blood flecked the walls as he slowly fell forwards, defeated. The only noises left now were of me and my partner’s breathing, and the moaning of the necromancer who had lost her hand.

“Why in Y’ffre’s Green Gables did you come here?” She asked. Her voice was light, but carried well. “Couldn’t you have picked someplace better to clown around?”

“Not really,” I rebutted, “I’m looking for something, and that something happens to be inside these ruins.”

“Oh, an adventurer, then, right?” She replied in an uncouth tone. “You must not be that experienced to have been bested by this lot.” She kicked one of the bodies to reinforce her words. “These fetchers haven’t been able to snatch a victim for months now. Well, not since I was down here.”

“So, why the change of heart?” I asked, ready to know what this woman was playing at. “Didn’t want my death on your conscience, or was I just unworthy of being zombified?”

“Hardly,” she replied, lifting her robes off her lithe frame, revealing gleaming silver armor of what I recognized to be Mithril. “I am Sylvia of the Smoke Hole Sylvan Rangers. I was sent here to keep an eye on this lot, make sure they kept their noses out of my clan’s business. I could have let them kill you, but fortunately for you, I’m not one to let innocents die so easily.”

“Well, lucky for me you were here,” I responded, getting to my feet having found my breath again.

“And lucky for me you at least know your way around a blade,” She added. “Do you have any idea what those cretins almost did to my hair?”

That comment was just enough to remind me that I was standing talking to her with no clothes, and possibly with enough electricity in my own hair to start a small storm outside. I felt myself growing very red as I searched for the rest of my possessions.

“Erm, would you mind?” I timidly asked Sylvia the Sylvan Ranger, and noted that she, too, grew rather red. Apparently she didn’t realize I was in a bit of a soft corner, either.

“Oh, uhh… right.” She replied hesitantly, quickly shifting her gaze away. “Your pack is over there,” she indicated a corner of the room with several glass apparatuses set up on a small table, “and I hope you packed a change. The clothes you brought with you here are in quite bad shape.”

Poor Dere keeps waking up naked, and so far it has not been fun. A gripping battle! And then:

“Do you have any idea what those cretins almost did to my hair?”

After months in the ruins with a bunch of necromancers, Sylvia could probably stand a full spa treatment!

Sylvan Rangers, I am intrigued. Hopefully Dere has a change of clothes, it would stink to walk into a Ranger camp wearing a necromancer’s robe!

Blood began to weep from cuts
I doubt Cutter could have put it better!

Derelas is lucky that yet another secret agent was on hand to rescue him in a thrilling, buck-naked battle. I guess he is now an honorary Gaesatae!


nits:
couple with an odd tingling feeling that spread from my bones to my fingertips
I believe you were looking for coupled?

and was now standing next to my Bosmer savior with my father blade back in my hands.
And that father's?

The chamber was now bathed in light, and blade gleamed with heat, ready to slay those who had threatened its master.
The part I highlighted feels like it is missing something. Did you mean and my blade?

Finally an observation. A fight with six necromancers, and not a single one summoned something? This feels extremely strange, as summoning is one of the signatures of necromancers. Are you reworking necromancy so that summoning is not part of how it works perhaps?

To clarify: this bunch weren't the greatest necromancers in the world. If summoning had occured to them, this battle would likely have played out very differently. We will be seeing real necromancers (who are indeed very dangerous) in due course, this group was simply a bunch of wannabes, for lack of better term.

The only semi-competent one there who might actually have summoned something was the Altmer, and he was the first to go.

Damsels are always rescuing Derelas in distress. This time it was Sylvia the Sylvan Ranger. Wonderful touch to have an infiltrator among the necrogang.

And a heart pounding fight with plenty of various tactics and tricks.

I'm looking forward to learning more about Sylvia and her clan.

Nit: 'First, he conjured a white spell from is staff which smashed into me with the force of a barrel thrown by a giant.'
I think you wanted 'his' staff.

@Grits: We will have to wait on those Sylvans, this chapter simply laid the seed of a possible future endeavor. Right now, we need to investigate some Ayleid arcana, and figure out how it works, if we can.

@SubRosa: As I said before, not really necromancers.
Nits be picked.

@Acadian: Glad you enjoyed the battle. That's why I work to keep them widely spaced, as you know. Things would get pretty dull if there was too much death and destruction going on.
Nit be picked.

@all: Now that I am back in business here, it is time to move things forward. We have business to attend to in here, after all.

next: We try to figure out how to work some Stepstones. Will we be successful?






“Well, no reason for me to stay any longer,” Sylvia commented once I had pulled on the spare shirt and slacks I kept in my pack. “These louts can’t annoy my camp anymore, so I’ll need to find something else to do with my time. I don’t think there are any more in here, so feel free to look around if you want.”

“These guys weren’t really necromancers, then?” I asked. They certainly looked, and smelled, the part.

“Just because you can cast flashy spells and smell like a tomb doesn’t make you a necromancer,” Sylvia replied. “This bunch mostly passed the time breaking into village churchyards and digging up graves. They’ve never actually managed to imbibe a dead body with unlife. Worst they would’ve done is kill you.”

“Small comfort,” I responded with a mild scoff. “Dead or undead, I’m still not breathing anymore.”

“So be glad I was here to break you out then,” came Sylvia’s reply. She was making her way through the ornate metal gates out of the chamber when she turned back, a quizzical expression on her face. “You know, I still can’t believe they caught you. What happened?” she asked.

“The Altmer snuck up on me,” I replied, surveying the room by light she could not see. “Let’s just say I took my safety for granted.”

“Fair enough,” Sylvia responded. “Just do me a favor and keep your guard up inside these ruins from here on. I might not be able to rescue you a second time.”

And with that, she dashed off, leaving me alone in the chamber to survey the damage. Considering how Sylvia spoke of this bunch, I had to assume they were not very skilled. None of them had even thought to call forth an undead minion. I suspected the Altmer was the only person in here who actually knew what he was doing. But I was getting off key; I came in here because I needed to look into how these Stepstones Kud-Ei told me about worked. Trouble was, I still needed to find one that was intact.

Perusing the book Kud-Ei gave me last night before I went to bed, I had learned that the Stepstone grid had fallen into considerable disrepair over the several eras of neglect they saw when their creators had died out. Very few were still in serviceable order, as many had cracked and frayed surfaces. This apparently compromised the magical energies that allowed them to transport people, and this would cause various unpredictable results. As far as the writers could tell, that was, as still no one knew how they worked. The two inside the small cave I arrived in fit that description, both of them looked ready to fall apart, and it seemed to me to be a wonder they had even received me in the first place. If I were to get good results, I would be looking for a Step that still looked to be in serviceable order. And, of course, that was why I got stuck in here with a bunch of grave robbers.

Then there was the problem of actually finding out how they worked. On that, the book contained no information, other than a reference to the expedition in a ruin called Vahtacen by Irlav Jarol, and that they had made very little progress over the three months it has now taken place. When it came to actually working the Steps, I was on my own.

The light from my blade dimmed for a moment as I reflected on what I had read, and in the brief moment of darkness, I noticed that this chamber was not only lit by the orange braziers arranged on the ground. Aqua blue lights glinted down from the high alcoves nearby, and my eyes were drawn upward to one of the most amazing sights I had ever laid eyes upon.

“This is called a Welkynd Stone,” father explained to me, holding out a large blue stone with sloped sides and a square shape. The surface was carved with ornate vine-like patterns, and into the top was etched the symbol of an eagle carrying a Mer away in its talons. The entire stone glowed with the same blue light that made up its complexion. “This is one of the rarest and most valuable artifacts in all of Tamriel.”

“Really, why?” I asked, eager to know if there was something magical involved.

“Because of the magic imbibed into these stones,” my father explained to my youthful face. “It is said that they are crafted not of materials you can find on our world, but of Meteoric Glass, or as the Ayleids called it, the Tears of Oblivion. This material, they found, was exceptionally good at storing Magicka, and that when filled, it would glow like shoreside sky, as this one is.”

“Wow,” I breathed, “where did you find this?”

“You can only find them inside the ruins of the Ayleid cities, now,” my dad explained. “They were often used to light the royal chambers of the ancient kings, as the Ayleids considered them a symbol of their dominance over lesser creatures, but you can occasionally find them in the ruins of the homes of the wealthy, too.”

“And can you use the magic inside them?”

“It is possible to coax the Magicka stored within to pass from the stone into your own body, but I would not recommend doing that unless you had to,” Dad explained.

“Why not?”

“Meteoric Glass likes to take in Magicka quite a lot, but by the same token, it abhors letting it go. Once you ask it to give up its Magicka, the stone will not survive the process. However, despite that, there are some who believe that in lieu of their Star Wells, the Ayleids used these stones to power their magical creations.”

“Really?” I asked, “like what?”

“No one really knows right now,” Dad explained, “but the Guild wants me to find a few more so they can study what else they might have been used for. The Mages Guild is funding the expedition out of their pockets, this time, so I’m afraid I can’t stay long. I expect this journey will take some time, so do take care of your mother while I’m gone.”

In the high alcoves of the chamber, no fewer than four stones were suspended on small metal plinths. The tops were of the same ornately carved blue-green stone my father had brought home that one day of my early teenage years, and the bottom was wrapped in an intricate pattern of Onyx. If anything could be used to put some life into the Stepstones, I thought, it would be these. There was but one problem: they were much too high for me to reach, and so I would have to knock them down.

My bow had not seen much use since the Ancient Yews, and it was badly nicked in places where it had been used to shield my face from low hanging branches. I would need to get a new one soon, but it still looked to be okay for use to knock the stones down for me to grab them. I would need to be careful on the draw, though, least the staff snap, and then I would have to resort to throwing things. It didn’t fluster me too much that my bow was dying, as it was the first bow I ever made and it was a bit rough around the edges, but it didn’t make me particularly happy to know that its life was nearly over. I removed my bow from my back, carefully added a string so as not to bend it too much, readied an arrow, and slowly brought it back to a half-draw that didn’t tense the staff.

The force of the arrow when it was let fly was just enough to make the stone overbalance and topple to the ground with several sharp clinks, and there was not a ding on the stone when I picked it up. Grinning to myself, I quickly retrieved my arrow and placed the stone into my pack. I repeated the process three more times for each stone in the room, and I soon had all four stones packed away. I now had a possible source of power for the Stepstones, so now I simply needed to find some.

It did not take long for that to happen, either. A quick examination of the central chamber under the warm illumination coaxed from my blade brought forth the presence of four of the small, round plinths, just large enough for a Nord to comfortably stand on. Closer inspection was not quite as I would have hoped, only one of them looked to be any good. The rest had cracks running the entire width of the stone in multiple places. Still, it was a start, so now came figuring out how to work it.

When I moved to take a Welkynd Stone from my pack and sheathed my sword, I was met with an amazing sight. The glow surrounding the stones had become so bright it was filling the entire room with sea-blue light, no small feat given the size of the chamber. It was like they had sensed the presence of the Stepstones nearby, and they were now eager to absorb more power from the ancient constructs. Taking one of the brilliantly glowing stones in my hands, I slowly stepped up onto the stone and allowed the Welkynd’s crystal surface to touch it.




----




I stepped out into the evening light rife with disappointment and dejection. Despite everything that occurred to me, including casting spells on both of the stones and, when my temper had flared, kicking them, nothing had worked. I remained resolutely fixed in the same hallway for several hours as my every experiment failed. Only minutes ago, I gave it up as a bad job and left to return to Anvil. I would stay in the Mages Guild hall tonight, so that I might probe the minds of those more learned in the secrets of the Ayleids tomorrow.

Whew! I'm glad there's no more of those wanna-be's! (takes on Mazoga's voice) They may not be real necromancers, but dead is dead. (relinquishes Mazoga's voice)

I did see a nit: Seems to me you're missing a verb here. Perhaps result in?

Dere must have some sort of charm to keep getting rescued by lovely ladies. Quite the turn-around from the usual damsel-in-distress scenario.

A disappointing day for Derelas, but at least he’s not dead. I expect that returning to a cave full of dead necromancers will be only slightly more pleasant than when it was full of live ones. How do the Stepstones work? I’m looking forward to what Dere finds out.

Nice exchange between Dere and Sylvia as he learns a little more about the former inhabitants of the ruin. Then, like Faith a flash, Sylvia was gone.

It was fun to see Dere retrieve the welkynd stones with his bow. And I still get a kick out of his neat sword of kissing mares.

Dere now has the steps and stones for it, but not quite the knowledge he seeks. Blue clues indeed. Returning to the Anvil guild to consult scholars there seems like a good plan.


Nits:

'She was making her way through the ornate metal gates out of the chamber when she decided to turn back turned back, a quizzical expression on her face. '
Extra words here, likely from a previous edit.

“Just do me a favor and keep you guard up inside these ruins from here on."
You wanted 'your' of course.

Worst they would’ve done is kill you
Oh, is that all then...

other than a reference to the expedition in a ruin called Vahtacen by Irlav Jarol
I wonder the DF version of Jarol is the same as so many others? In that he spends his time "leading" the expedition from the comforts of the Imperial City, while other people do all the work - which he steals the credit for of course.

Derelas' little trip down memory lane was nicely done. On one level it shows us more of his relationship with his father. On the other it gives us a primer on how Welkynd Stones work in the DF.



nits:
In the game welkynd stones are a greenish color, as is meteoric glass. Also, in the game glass is a fragment from Aetherius, not Oblivion. It is all in Magic From The Sky If you are deliberately changing it no worries. After all, that book was written by Irlav Jarol, so it is probably all wrong!

Chapter 8-3: Holy Cow, what a fight! Your descriptive phrases continue to be in such detail as to draw up graphic images (in the middle of my lunch ... urg!) And poor Dere, naked again! Lol. - Great Write !!

Chapter 8-4: Great description of how the Welkynd Stones work in your story !! GAAAH! Dere gave up? I did not expect that !!! It had to be a clue when the stones glowed and lit up the chamber !!! ARGH !! Gotta agree with Grits though, at least he is still alive, and returning to a place of safety. Really interesting write, Awesome !!!

@rider: I see you are catching on to a recurring theme in this tale. Yes, there are no damsels in distress in this tale, instead it is the damsels undoing the distress. Not the first time this happened, nor will it be the last.
Nit picked.

@Grits: Yup, he's alive, and that's what matters. In the meantime, he needs to prepare a bit more, since he was obviously a bit out of his depth in Garlas Agea. Complacency in times of danger is not a good habit to fall into.

@Acadian: Yes, that is a fun little sword, eh? Hopefully he'll finish up with his scholarly interests soon enough so that he can get to using it again, but he does know now that he was a bit quick on the uptake of this adventure.
Nits picked.

@SubRosa: I consider the Welkynd Stones to be aqua, and as aqua can appear to be blue at times, I'm going to leave that be. As for the glass, don't be too hasty. Everything has an explanation.

@mALX: Oh, how I enjoy making you lose your lunch! And no, Dere didn't quite give up, he just needs some time to gather his thoughts and consult a few people who are more knowledgeable than him on this subject.

next: A little food, drink, and chit-chat will do us some good. After an exciting foray into and Ayleid ruin and a near death experience, it'll be nice to sit back and relax.





“So, you’re trying to help Kud-Ei with that pet project of her boyfriend’s now?”

It was breakfast at the Anvil Mages Guild, and the population of the hall had conglomerated around the lavishly carved teak table and were helping themselves to all manner of foods. There was a bowl full of assorted berries, including a small vine of what I recognized to be Comberries, along with platters of cheeses, sweetrolls, and a large bowl right in the middle of the table filled with buttery scrambled eggs.

The mer speaking to me now was a Bosmer, who had introduced himself as Thaurron the previous morning before I left for Garlas Agea. However, it was not his clothing, or his demeanor that made him stand out to me when I first saw him. What made him unique was the bat-like creature that followed him around wherever he went. From what he told me, he was the only person in all Tamriel who managed to tame an imp. Said imp, who he had named Sparky, was now flapping around the table, feasting on the morsels offered to him by the many other members of the Guild with a devilish grin across his face.

“Yes,” I replied, biting into a strawberry and savoring the tart, juicy flavor of the shiny, heart-shaped fruit. “She has tasked me to exploring Ayleid ruins to look for Stepstones that might work, and to find out how to do so.”

“A bit much to ask a new associate, don’t you think?” Thaurron responded, cocking his head slightly.

“A fresh mind can work wonders when your work has found a wall.” Carahil replied smoothly to Thaurron. “Kud-Ei and Henantier have been tiring of Jarol’s slow progress for some time now. However, it is no less surprising that she would have chosen someone so new. Pray tell, Derelas, you have my curiosity on this subject. Why did she choose you?”

“I’m sorry, but that’s a private matter between me and her,” I responded. I could have tried to avoid answering by changing the subject slightly, or by other means to direct Carahil’s attention away from that rather touchy portion of our lives, but I was never one to play coy. My answer did make Carahil rather suspicious, but she seemed to content herself with resting the matter… at least for now. No doubt she would try again when there was less of a crowd around.

“Very well,” Carahil replied, “did you discover anything interesting?”

“Well, you know of the Welkynd Stones, right? Crafted from the Tears of Oblivion?”

“Aetherius,” a Breton by the name of Marc Guillete quipped.

“Come again?” I asked him, puzzled.

“Tears of Aetherius, you mean,” he responded, making it clear I was being corrected. “You got one of the first print copies of The Ayleid Steps, did you not? There was a mistranslation in that edition. We’ve made more progress in deciphering the Ayleid language since the book was published, and that was corrected starting with the third print.”

“Oh, I see,” I replied, my voice slightly heavier than usual. “In either case, the Welkynd Stones do react to the presence of the Stepstones quite dramatically, a lot more than the book described. The entire chamber was bathed in light from the stone when it sensed the presence of the nearby Stepstone.”

“But you couldn’t find a way to work it?” Carahil inquired.

“Well… no.” I replied, hastening to take a sip of water. “Apart from glowing like a third moon, the Welkynd Stone didn’t really do anything.”

“But you are still convinced that the Welkynds do have a role in this?” Carahil continued. Her pressing questions seemed to be geared towards my knowledge of the endeavor I had found myself in. Granted, it wasn’t superb, and I felt more and more like a fish out of water every day I pondered my task, but I had promised Kud-Ei results, and I don’t break my promises.

“Yes, I am convinced,” I replied, filling my voice with what I felt was an appropriate tone of resolution. “Those stones are reacting to the Stepstones, and I want to find out why. Everything happens for a reason.”

“That is true,” Carahil responded, her smooth tone never once breaking throughout this conversation. Her composure was impeccable. “But since it would seem that there is not much more you can do with the Steps for now, perhaps you might consider investing in a bit more field experience?”

“Was I in that bad shape when I came back through the door?” I inquired, a now very familiar heat building in my cheeks.

“You changed your shirt, Derelas, men don’t often do that in the middle of the day.”

This comment was met with an outbreak of sniggering around the table.

“And how many times has Sparky singed yours?” I bit back at Tharron, feeling a bit stung. This caused him to stop almost immediately, but then came the unmistakable smell of burning cloth, and he started absolutely roaring with laughter.

“GET THAT DAMN THING AWAY FROM ME!” Marc cried out, dashing upstairs while tearing off his flaming shirt. The entire table, including myself, was now beside itself with mirth, and even Carahil was chuckling mildly. Sparky was hovering around Marc’s empty chair, his grin decidedly roguish, and he was now helping himself to Marc’s sweetroll.

“Now, now, Thaurron, you are going to have to keep better control over your imp than that if you wish to keep him here,” Carahil spoke, breaking the atmosphere of humor at last, though she still had a small grin on her face. She had long since cast a mild frost ball to tame the blazing shirt on the floor.

“Apologies, Magister,” Thaurron replied, his own cheeks reddening now. “Sparky, come here!”

Sparky obliged, but he didn’t drop the sweetroll. Instead, he took a small nibble and chirruped in what I could only describe as an impish giggle. Carahil shook her head as she turned back to me, still grinning from Sparky’s perfectly timed mischief.

So, what happened in there, Derelas?” Carahil asked again.

“Necromancers,” I responded. “Well, really, just hedge wizards pretending to be necromancers, to tell you the truth. They weren’t very skilled,” I added when Carahil raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“I would think not,” she replied, “given your lack of field experience, it is quite a surprise you made it back at all. Is there some other part to this tale I am missing?”

While I appreciated Carahil’s directness with her questioning, it did tend to make me uncomfortable at times. It felt like I was a child being softly lectured by his mother, and that thought did nothing to make me feel more at ease.

“There was… a Sylvan Ranger, she called herself. Name of Sylvia,” I replied. “She helped me escape.”

“I see,” Carahil replied, her soft tone not quite hiding a certain measure of disappointment. It was just enough to make my eyes seek the floor, and acquiesce to the respect she commanded so readily. “You may wish to consider getting some more experience out in the wild before you continue your journey, then. In fact, I might be able to help you with that, if you are willing.”

“I would be more than willing,” I replied, bringing my eyes back up to the Magister’s golden face. “I would be quite grateful for your help.”

“Good,” Carahil replied, rising gracefully from her seat at the table. “Come with me.”

I finished the last bite of my own sweetroll before I followed.

“I’m sorry, but that’s a private matter between me and her,” I responded. I could have tried to avoid answering by changing the subject slightly, or by other means to direct Carandial’s attention away from that rather touchy portion of our lives, but I was never one to play coy. My answer did make Carandial rather suspicious, but she seemed to content herself with resting the matter… at least for now. No doubt she would try again when there was less of a crowd around.

Quick question, is Carandial in Anvil, or is it Carahil throughout? I’m sorry if I’m confused!

“You changed your shirt, Derelas, men don’t often do that in the middle of the day.”

Hey, at least he didn’t lose it entirely.

“GET THAT DAMN THING AWAY FROM ME!” Marc cried out, dashing upstairs with his shirt while tearing off his flaming shirt.

Good Sparky!! I hope he doesn’t get in too much trouble. After all, a tame imp is still an imp!

Hmmm, now what could Carahil have in mind for Derelas? Can’t wait to find out!

Supposed to be Carahil. I just missed those last two instances of her name when changing them up (I got a bit confused myself over who ran the guild over there).

I really hate Altmer names sometimes, it's almost like six characters share the same name because they are so similar to each other.

Kud-Ei with that pet project of her boyfriend’s now?
Well I guess that cat is not securely in the bag!

perhaps you might consider investing in a bit more field experience?”
Uh oh, watch your head Derelas! I sense a dangling shoe, that is likely to drop any moment!

The entire scene at the breakfast table was well done, giving us a recap of previous events and small introductions to the other members of the Anvil guild (I guess Abiene and Jerric were off humping, and Darnand probably asleep at his worktable ) Carahil comes across as one would expect, the softly lecturing mother who is firmly in charge of her guild. Sparky of course is the real show-stealer here, begging morsels from the dinner table again no less! I bet no other imp in Tamriel eats as good as he does! On sweetrolls no less!

Oh, and I feel your pain about Altmer names. I think Bethesda did their names last, and got a little tired, because as you said, many of them are identical except for one or two letters changed. Calindil, Carandial, Carahil... argh!

I think every fan fic writer dealing with the TES universe has struggled with the same problem. And if it isn't Altmer, it's Dunmer!

Carahil, Carandial, Calindil, Caminalda, Caranya - ugh! There seems to be a particular fondness for names beginning with 'CAR-'

One nit: I believe you meant your.

Was that one of Salmo's sweetrolls that Sparky - umm, sparked - Marc for?

What a delightful breakfast at the guild! You represent Carahil, Marc, Thaurron, Sparky and Derelas well. No wonder there was so much food on the table given how much an imp eats. I hope he doesn't leave chips all over to mix in with the burning articles of clothing.

I get the distinct feeling that Carahil has a task in mind for Dere that has nothing to do with his current research. She was really pushing the need to get Dere some 'field experience'. . . .

Nits:
'Marc cried out, dashing upstairs with his shirt while tearing off his flaming shirt.'
This reads oddly. Would simply deleting the redundant bold part be better?

“I would be more than willing,” I replied, bringing my eyes back up to the Magister’s golden face. “I would be quite grateful for you help.”
Oops. Another missing 'r'.

I have to come back and read this tomorrow, TK. Just too tired to see tonight. (sorry).

This was a great line, conjuring up an image of Carahil's facial expression as her eyes lingered on Dere's face before she dropped the subject, lol.


I loved this little interchange and the personality you gave to Sparky!! :




The next paragraph drove home the only nit I found in the chapter (other than Carahil's varied name, lol). :





Describing his antics as impish would have had a much more delightful impact if you had left off the descriptor "the Imp" and just called him "Sparky" in these two places. (The imp was impish - too much of a good thing).

Also, to eliminate the repetative descriptor "impish" - in the first paragraph "impish" could be dropped and let "roguish" stand on its own.

Great Write!!!

@Grits: Imps will be imps! Oh, by the way, did I mention I hate Altmer names?

@SubRosa: A dangling shoe to be dropped quite soon, you will find. I am always on the lookout for interesting and believable ways to hook the game's quests into the story, and Garlas Agea did quite a lot for me with that.
Nits picked.

@haute ecole rider: Maybe.... Or maybe he's just doing what imps love to do. Either way, he wins.
Nit picked.

@Acadian: And she has a lot of reason to push, as you will soon find. There is plenty of strife to deal with, and she needs a few foolish young minds brave volunteers to sort through a few glaring problems.
Nits picked.

@mALX: Your input is always welcome, as is your playfulness.


next: Another journey, and even more danger. This time to a nearby town I recently created a mod for. If you wish to fully visualize Brina Cross as I see it, you can download here.
[/shameless plug]

Chapter 9-1: Brina Cross

“You have proven yourself quite willing to take risks in your services to the Guild, so I will assume you are prepared for what I am about to ask of you,” Carahil told me, scanning my map with her deep brown eyes as she spoke. “This is the real work, the work that matters, and we are all just as much a part of it.”

“Your destination is the town of Brina Cross,” she continued, making a marking on my map. “The village has seen a small boom of late, and a number of facilities have opened up to the traveling merchant who might pass by. Unfortunately, this has also attracted the attention of thieves, and they have wasted no time in setting up ambush points along the roads.”

“Shouldn’t the Legion be taking care of this, then?” I asked quizzically.

“Yes, they should,” Carahil replied, a definite note of aggravation mixed in her comforting voice. The effect was quite unnerving. “But we must remember that these are trying times for the Empire. What with Kvatch being so close by and Oblivion Gates opening all across Cyrodiil now, the Legion claims to be a bit too… preoccupied to see to such petty matters as armed robbery.”

The emphasis Carahil placed on her words told me that she didn’t really seem to believe in what she was saying. She gave a deep sigh before continuing.

“Nevertheless, despite Fort Sunset Vista being right on the town’s doorstep, the Legion is refusing to get involved, so that is where we step in.”

“Which brings us back to my task,” I finished for her. Carahil gave me a quick, yet faint smile before proceeding.

“Indeed. There has been considerable trouble lately with a robber whom despite their best efforts, the town watch in Brina Cross simply can’t locate. We know that the robber is a mage, as all of his victims’ bodies, yes, bodies,” she reaffirmed, no doubt noticing the look of horror that crossed my face, “bore the distinct markings of Frost magic, but apart from that, they have no more information than we do, I’m afraid to say.”

“And that is why we are performing this job over the Fighters Guild, I’d wager,” I quipped.

“Correct,” Carahil replied. “I have already sent two Battlemages on ahead, but considering this robber has managed to keep himself hidden so well for so long, it is doubtful they can do anything about this on their own. That is where you come in; you are a nonentity to the Guild in these parts, and you will be the one to draw this rogue mage out of hiding.”

“So I’m the bait?” I demanded, my voice flaring with my temper. “Why is it every single time I get asked to do a job by this Guild, I have to put my head on a stake? I thought the Mages Guild was dedicated to the furthering of magical knowledge?”

“Enough,” Carahil snapped. Unlike mine, her voice remained completely calm, but it contained just enough force to bring my attention firmly back to her and seal my lips. “I have already spoken to you about this. Not every lesson in this world can be taught through rainbows and butterflies on the amber hillsides. The world is ugly, and we do what we can to make it better. Be it educating those who wish to learn the arcane arts, or bringing a rogue mage to justice, this is what we do. I see no reason to shelter you from the affairs this Guild must deal with on a daily basis. If you think there is one, then I have no more to say to you. If you wish to continue your advancement through our ranks, you know what you must do. The decision is now yours.”




----




As the sun sank beneath the azure waves of the Abecean Sea, I was passing by the grand spire of Fort Sunset Vista on my way to the nearby township of Brina Cross. The great stone tower was so tall that it could be seen for miles around, and afforded the Legionaries who resided within a superb view of the surrounding countryside. County Anvil was made up largely of verdant steppes of golden sedge, every so often broken by the growth of deep green conifers or large, mossy boulders. The hills rolled like the sea, which bordered the province to the west, and at sundown, they lent a subtle golden glow to the already incredible playing sparkles of red and orange along the water. The result was astounding, and is best described by the name the residents have given this phenomenon: the Flaming Tide. From the little I heard so far about the Flaming Tide, it was a symbol of Kynareth; of the beauty of the land these people inhabited. Many of the local sailors tended to wait until Flaming Tide to set sail, as it is believed to set to sea then would bring the blessings of Kynareth to their journey.

The fort was named Sunset Vista because, as the name would suggest, it was perched on the ideal hilltop to view the Flaming Tide. I would think that, given the well polished uniform of the soldiers stationed there, that to be assigned to Sunset Vista was something of a privilege in the Legion; the polar opposite of a place like, say, Fort Frostmoth. There was plenty to like about such a fort, as well. It was constructed not in the boxy modern Imperial style, but in the elegant-but-purposeful architecture of the many First Era forts that now lay in ruins all across Cyrodiil. Only four of these old style forts remained, and all were erected in the most picturesque locations possible. I did not know where the other three stood, but if they were in any way similar to Sunset Vista, then the Cyrodiil Legion are very lucky soldiers indeed.

Brina Cross was only a bell’s toll from Sunset Vista, and the first thing that stuck out to me was just how empty it looked. The square was all set for what looked like a market, with rows upon rows of open-air stalls with gaudy canvas roofing spread all throughout the square. But every last one of them stood deserted. This coupled with the small clock tower rising from the center, its hands indicating a solid eight hours and twenty-five minutes after-zenith, gave an air of foreboding to the square that made my neck hair stand on end. Such a busily set market square should be bustling with people making last-minute purchases before heading off to the inn for dinner, but therein lay the problem… there wasn’t. Not a soul was to be seen in the entire village. No one except the two guards out on evening watch with eyes glazed over from boredom, that is.

The Inn shared the loneliness I found outside. Most of the tables were empty, with no places set and chairs flipped on their ends and placed atop them to keep them out of the way of the few guests around. The only people there were the innkeeper stood behind his bar on the opposite wall, a brown-shirted Breton, and a golden-skinned Altmer in a deep blue dress.

“Greetings, and welcome to the Brina Cross Inn!” The innkeeper greeted me, far too warmly than seemed natural. “Could I interest you in something to eat, or maybe a bed? Or would you be looking for a drink, perhaps? You’ll find it all here! Quality goods at a bargain price!”

“Just a bed, for now,” I cut across his rambling. “It’s been a long journey, and I really must get some rest before I continue on.”

Of course, I had no intention of ‘continuing on’, at least, not too much farther. I was to cover as a traveling merchant for the entire course of my visit. Much to my displeasure, this had meant leaving all my weapons behind, as a magical gleaming saber that glowed in the dark and set fire to her victims might have been a bit of a giveaway. Carahil wanted me to look like I was not expecting a bit of trouble, otherwise, the robber might cast me off as a bad job--not worth the risk.

“Oh…” the innkeeper looked a bit crestfallen that I was not interested in more, and when he continued, his voice had lost a considerable amount of its previous spark. “Well, do enjoy your stay, at least. Our beds are quite comfortable, and available by Drakes on the Septim, of course.”

As I handed him the ten Drake fee, I spoke: “You haven’t received that much business lately, have you?”

“Well, truth be told, no,” he stated simply. “Not since the… well… the murders. I don’t like to talk about it, though, as it’s bad for business. Either way, enjoy your stay, and if you need anything else, let me know.”

Collecting the key, I silently made my way upstairs. The Altmer showed no interest in me whatsoever, but I noted the eyes of the Breton quietly following me.

The room was small, but well furnished, and the bed actually was quite inviting. I began to strip off my clothes, but the sudden appearance of footsteps sent me racing to put my shirt back on. As I pushed my arms through the sleeves, there was a knock at the door.

When I answered, I saw it was the Breton. She gave a small smile that did wonders to accent her auburn locks before she spoke.

“May I come in? We have much to discuss.”

“Really?” I inquired skeptically. “For whom does the southern bell toll?”

“Alas, but only the glass menagerie may tell,” the Breton replied. This settled that she was my contact, so I stepped aside and allowed her entry.

“I assume you must be Arielle?” I inquired as she took a seat on the bed.

“You assume correctly,” she replied, “I didn’t want to speak downstairs for fear of making a scene, and I’m glad you only drew as much attention to yourself as was needed. This operation is quite delicate, after all.”

“Here’s what we know,” she continued briskly, yet quietly, “The robber’s favorite site is just east of here, on a curve of the Gold Road that gives you a good view of Kvatch. You are to make your way along the road until the robber makes himself known. We will be following out of sight. Make no attempt to contact us, and trust that we will protect you. We are taking every precaution necessary to ensure you don’t get hurt. Now, best get yourself some sleep, you need to be well rested for tomorrow.”

She turned to leave, but hesitated at the door before turning back while reaching into her pockets. She then pulled out a set of scrolls and handed them to me.

“Take these. We know the mage prefers the use of Frost magic, so these should help prevent the worst of the damage he can do to you. Be ready to leave early tomorrow morning. Good night.”

I see we're familiar with our Tennessee Williams. That exchange of code phrases is delightful.

Finally, I am caught up, and let me just express how upset I am that it took me this long to do so. Derelas continues to entertain, his responses and remarks borderline south of "Deadpan Snarker" and well within the borders of "Bloody Hilarious." And he continues to deliver on the body count of people that have made an effort at killing him.

One nit: Your previous chapter, "A Tantalizing Offer," has two references to Carandial in the last four paragraphs, where I believe you intended to have Carahil. Granted, I blame Bethesda, and secretly believe that the high number of Altmer requiring killing in the game is their way of cutting down on the confusion, but I wanted to point it out. Doesn't get much better now that you're about to have a deeply personal discussion with Caminalda.

I thought the Mages Guild was dedicated to the furthering of magical knowledge?
What kind of crazy talk is that? The Mages Guild is all about killing people with fireballs! At least that is what it seems like in the game.

Carahil replies as I expect she would. The Nun with the steel ruler. You can see here why Hannibal Lector Traven left her in charge of his old chapter.

I loved your descriptions of the countryside, especially the Flaming Tide. I was a little surprised to see it ascribed to Mara rather than Kynareth (as the latter is the goddess of weather and patron of sailors). But the red color is reminiscent of menstrual blood as well, which is what I am imaging you are basing the association from.

but I noted the eyes of the Breton quietly following me
I think the Breton might be hot for Derelas!

Oh yes, I am sure Derelas will sleep soundly tonight! Just because his head is being stuck in a noose, there is no reason to lose any sleep after all. Can you imagine if college kids had to go through this IRL?

Carahil makes wonderful sense as she explains the quest and that the guild has an interest/responsibility in policing rogue mages, particularly when the Legion is so occupied. Speaking of which, a great little update to what is going on with the Oblivion Crisis.

Nice job incorporating Brina Cross into this quest.

As Dere was getting undressed and there was a knock on his door, I thought, oh great, poor guy's gonna end up naked again! Fortunately (or not) he got his clothes back on before opening his door to the lovely Arielle Jurard.

ROFL !!! Are you sure Dere isn't a redhead? That flash-in-the-pan temper may be hiding a secret!





I was rolling reading these code phrases - blatently denoting the characters as spies - awesome humorous touch !!!

Great chapter, good to see you updating !!

“So I’m the bait?” I demanded, my voice flaring with my temper. “Why is it every single time I get asked to do a job by this Guild, I have to put my head on a stake? I thought the Mages Guild was dedicated to the furthering of magical knowledge?”

So very Derelas, and the perfect cue for Carahil’s reply. I would not have expected him to just meekly agree and go for an amble up the road!

Is Flaming Tide Anvil’s red sky at night? What a beautiful description of that part of Anvil County.


Much to my displeasure, this had meant leaving all my weapons behind, as a magical gleaming saber that glowed in the dark and set fire to her victims might have been a bit of a giveaway.

Good point.

After a dangerous brush with partial nudity, it was fun to see spymaster Arielle and agent Derelas making their plans.

@Hammer: Welcome back, glad to see you still with us! Your interpretation of Derelas is quite close to what I want out of his character, so I am very glad you find him endearing in that way. And don't worry, there are still plenty of people out to kill him who need a good backfiring of their plans.
By the way, did I mention I hate High Elf names?

@SubRosa: Actually, I think I prefer the Flaming Tide to be a sign of Kynareth, so I've changed that part up a bit. But this is not the game, this Mages Guild doesn't kill people with fireballs, they kill people with explosions, lectures, and gum disease!

@Acadian: Derelas has been getting caught with his pants down a bit too much now, so it was time for me to break the cycle. I always love me a new village, and I made Brina Cross because I thought it fit what the town was supposed to be. It isn't nearly as deserted now, but since we have a bit of a problem with a rogue, murderous mage, having the square empty seemed a prudent choice. Who wants to sell their goods in a town they have to risk certain death to leave?

@mALX: Yup, those were rather blatant code phrases as we harkened to bad spy movies, but I also really wanted to throw in a small reference to Tennessee Williams at some point, so there you go.

@Grits: Flaming Tide is when the evening light reflects off the Abecean Sea on a clear day, turning the water a brilliant red-and-gold. It's a little reference to an old sailor's saying: "Red sky at night, sailor's delight."

next: There are some dangling plot threads that need to be gathered. Just what have the rest of the crew been up to so far?

Chapter 9-2: Three’s Company

“What have you managed to decipher so far?” The man with flaming eyes demanded of the ebony-haired woman in an elegant ivory dress nearby. She was deep in a meditative stance with a strange book in hand, and did not respond to the man’s voice at once. It was only when he grew impatient and opened his mouth again that she spoke in a voice of such resounding command, even this man, driven by cruel determination, faltered.

“The secrets of the Fingers of the Mountain do not lightly reveal themselves,” she spoke, her two fangs gleaming like silver daggers despite the lightless room in which she studied. “I require more time before I might unlock the book’s power. Perhaps you should busy yourself with locating the quarry you lost?”

“And you think I have been doing what for this past week?” The man scathed, eyes flaring in anger. “He has proven much more resourceful than I anticipated, and it is proving rather difficult to worm information out of the people of Bravil.”

“The skooma stores are right across from your chambers,” the woman responded without interest.

“I know,” the man replied through gritted teeth. “I’ve been saving it for… more special occasions.”

At his response, the woman looked up from her book, fixing her red-tinged eyes first on his face, then on his hips. She stared at that spot for a full three seconds before she spoke again.

“I see.”

“It would do you well to mind your tongue,” the man practically whispered, the malice in his voice chilling the air around him.

“And you would do well to mind where you put yours,” the woman bit back. “Even with your favorite… seasonings, the blood of a harlot remains ever the blood of a harlot.”

To this the man did not respond. When it became clear that the lady in white had won the verbal spar, she grinned faintly as she returned to her book.

“Regulus Terentius is quite observant of the goings-on in his city, as I’m sure you know. Your goods will be more than enough to loosen his tongue.”

“The stalkers shall be dispatched at once,” the man slowly replied, making his way out of the dim chamber.



----




“He’s going to have to go to Terentius at some point. Once he does, the Count is all but guaranteed to let loose the gossip.”

“He can’t be sure to give away our secret, though,” Faith replied to Tadrose’s concerns. The older Dunmer was currently taking a break from her forge while the blade she was hammering reheated in the furnace. The smoke from the roaring fire, hot as the Deadlands in Midyear, clouded the tiny room with smoke that was only barely visible caked onto Tadrose’s ashen skin. The effect was not unpleasant, though, rather it looked as though she were wearing a rather exotic makeup made just for her kind. It made Faith wonder why she had yet to find someone to settle down with, despite her insatiable desire for work.

“You know how the beggars gossip, Faith,” Tadrose replied edgily. “The moment something interesting happens with our friend at the center—and it will happen—the beggars will be the first to know. Next thing, the rumors reach the patricians, and the news is circling Tamriel before the day is gone. I don’t know how they do it, but it is all but assured that we cannot truly guarantee safety in this time.”

Tadrose turned away to check on the blade she was heating. “Besides,” she continued with an air of awful finality, “if the Ancient brings Skooma, the secrecy of our friend’s whereabouts is certainly lost.”

“Then we best prepare for the worst,” Faith replied slowly, failing to hide the tension thick upon her own voice. “How long until the Brotherhood catches up?”

“Hopefully never,” Tadrose replied, retrieving the once again glowing blade and picking up her hammer. “I have an agent seeing to that problem, he’ll keep the Brotherhood busy for as long as he can.”

“Tadrose!” A booming male voice called down into the basement forge. “Hurry up and get up here! The shoot starts in an hour and I want every guild member present for the qualifications!”

Tadrose repressed a sigh as she regretfully placed the blade she was about to hammer into the water trough. She would have to pick this work up later, as she desperately needed to clean up and change.

“I really do need to go,” Tadrose told Faith as she put away her smith’s hammer. “I can’t show up for the tourney like this, and Mara knows Teresa would never forgive me if I missed her shoot.”

“It’s alright,” Faith responded, waving a hand in dismissal. “There wasn’t really much more to discuss anyway. I think I should be off to Anvil now, if the Ancient tries bribing Terentius, I’ll want to be someplace where I can do some good.”

“I will notify White Wolf once I return,” Tadrose replied. “Light of Dawn guide your steps.”




----




“I know you’ve been holding things back from me,” the vampire accused a man in a cloak black as midnight. “You can’t hide this from me forever, Lucien.”

“What your Speaker chooses to share with you is not your business to question, Vicente,” Lucien responded coolly, his eyes never leaving the malformed face before him. “You may enjoy a different view from those harlots you so enjoy courting, but it would do you well not to pry into the Night Mother’s will.”

“Now see here, Lucien,” Vicente continued indignantly, “what I do with my brothers and sisters is nowhere near your business. You simply represent our sanctuary to the Mother; I am still in charge of things down there. You have been holding back information on the contract I offered the blood of my kin to the Mother to cement, and I am not about to let it pass lightly. I do not let such sacrifices go, and I do not enjoy having to find and train new murderers.”

“Really?” Lucien inquired, his composure never slipping. “I was under the impression you took rather well to his replacement. Did I not hear you raving two days ago about the Marie Elena job?”

“Times change,” Vicente quickly quipped, fangs flashing menacingly.

“Indeed they do, look what you’ve done to him now,” Lucien continued, “stuck him in some festering swamp-hole of a city trying to find leads? Perhaps he’ll enjoy the Tournament of Archers, but it seems an awful waste of good talent to me, so forgive me for thinking you are not doing a particularly good job with your duties, Valtieri. The Night Mother is most displeased, as if I recall correctly, you are once again behind on your contracts. Perhaps if you were to stop whoring around with young Antoinetta, you would discover a rather apt talent in her.”

“I am perfectly happy with her talents, thank you very much!” Vicente cried out.

“I mean outside of your coffin, you pillock,” Lucien snapped, his voice rising ever so slightly. “You will take the contracts I pass because your Night Mother, bride of the Dread Father Sithis himself, commands they be done. You will set your personal stakes, no matter the blood ties you have made, aside.”

Vicente did not speak for some time. The silence within the dank chamber in which the two spoke was palpable, and Vicente looked ready to slit Lucien’s throat. Finally after many moments of careful consideration, Vicente spoke again.

“Very well, I consider your point made. But know this, I have sealed my pact with the Night Mother on my contract just like any other client. The taking of that one’s life is a certainty now, and I will not be held back by you bloody bureaucrats. Not now, not later, not ever.”

“And you are perfectly entitled to pursue him again once you have cleared the contracts we have been provided.” Lucien replied. “The power is in the coin, my friend, and that is the difference between you and our clients.”

“I know,” Vicente growled.

“Then tell me, which of these next lives do you wish for your sanctuary to claim?”

Vicente looked down at the several scrolls Lucien had brought with him to the sanctuary, and after a moment’s consideration, Vicente selected one, rolled it up, and pocketed it.

“I shall deal with Baenlin,” Vicente replied.

“Very good,” Lucien responded with a light grin and a small bow. “Until we meet again.”

Vicente stood seething for several minutes after Lucien’s departure over the loss, once again, of his ability to follow up on his own needs. The sooner he could take the life of that fetching Valenwood immigrant and stop the Ancient from getting his hands on him, the better. He knew what might happen if that Bosmer met the Ancient, and if his fears came to pass, it would be his life coming to an end. Lucien was an utter fool to hold him back like this. The demon within screamed at him to push Lucien aside, to forget the family he was so much a part of now, and finish this job himself before the threat to his unlife became even more dire, but he must suppress such feelings. He had the might of the Brotherhood at his disposal, and so long as he played his cards well, everything would fall into place.

The light creaking of what sounded like a coffin lid opening shattered Vicente’s thoughts, and he turned to see a slender blond Breton emerge from his sleeping coffin.

“Is he gone?” she asked. “Why don’t you come on back inside?”

“Not now, love,” Vicente replied to Antoinetta. “I have a job for you.”

“Now?” Antoinetta inquired, the grin on her face faltering. “But…”

“Now is not the time, wench,” Vicente growled slowly, thoroughly irritated. “I am not having a very good day, and what would please me best now is your obedience. Please remove yourself from my sleeping coffin, and we may discuss this contract together.”

Gum disease! Those dirty bastiches!

It made Faith wonder why she had yet to find someone to settle down with, despite her insatiable desire for work
Perhaps she is looking for the right red-headed wood elf forester?

and Mara knows Teresa would never forgive me if I missed her shoot.
Apparently she is!

“I will notify White Wolf once I return,”
Elric of Melnibone? Yikes! I would not want to be on the same planet as that guy, it isn't healthy...

A very intriguing scene between Lucian Lacroix Lachance and Vincente. The plot has certainly thickened there! I wonder what Vincente's tie to the Ancient is? I do have to admit though, that the very end gave me a faint smile, as Antoinetta emerged from his coffin!

Three mysterious scenes.

A pair of vampires. One sorting out Fingers of the Mountain and the other planning to stalk his prey via the Bravil underground.

Tadrose and Faith lamenting how fast news gets around. So Faith decides to 'head 'em off at the pass' and go to Anvil.

And the Dark Brothers Lucien and Vincente with some definite family tension. Loved the end, Antoinetta in the box.

WOO HOO! Tadrose, Teresa, the tourney, Lucien ... and ... SPEW!!! Vicente and Antoinetta caught in a compromising coffin, ROFL !!!!

I found it very interesting that the Ancient uses Skooma for enhancing sexual pleasures, I had the same exact idea for its use (surprisingly, in Bravil as well, lol).


Great Write!

Skooma as blood seasoning, nice. I suppose that’s better for the donor than pain or terror. Antoinetta in the coffin is the new Venus on the half shell! Now you have given me an image I won’t forget!!

A great update on the tempest of intrigue that surrounds Derelas. Pretty soon I’m going to have to start taking notes.

People that eat roadkill call Armadillo, "Possom on the Halfshell."

@SubRosa: You know how much I adore your hot-tempered Forester! If I may say so, I am also awestruck by how comfortable Teresa is with her sexuality, and how well you manage to bring it across to the viewer. She has never once backed down from the fact that she prefers estrogen over testosterone, and I applaud you for that, in this here day and age where the U.S. is so horribly prejudiced against same-sex relationships. I can only dream of having character as strong as that.
Oh, and every faint smile from you is much appreciated. Thank you very much.

@Acadian: That segment was largely geared toward letting the reader know I am not letting my loose plot threads dangle. It was a sort of "gather the strings together" moment in the story, one which also gave me an excuse to let you know where things stood in Bravil with the Tourney, as well. I have decreed that Derelas is definitely going to miss the tournament, but it is still going on in the background. There is plenty that happens in the background with this tale, and I do that mainly to help cement the readers firmly into the world. And like with 'Rosa, I am glad you got a grin out of the end, I was hoping you would.

@mALX: When it comes to narcotics, I consider Skooma to be something of a mix of Methamphetamine and Ecstasy. Highly intoxicating, and it can be even more helpful than Viagra when it comes to a man "getting it up," but at the same time incredibly addictive and when you come off the high, it makes you extremely twitchy and paranoid. I had to research the effects of Meth during a mock trial event in high school, and the drug is actually a constant problem where I live (since it's so easy to hide the production gear now).

@Grits: And now that that is done, it is time to break out the canvas and oil paints. I shall be famous for this one day! I will dethrone the Mona Lisa with this indescribable imagery (or I'll get tossed into the asylum, but the way I see it, I win either way).

next: The next segment contains a cameo from one of the characters in Jerric's Story, on which I consulted Grits to ensure I had the characterization correct and to obtain approval for the usage of said character, as well. I hope you enjoy the guest appearance.

Chapter 9-3: An Icy Return

The golden-skinned, long-eared Altmer laid her warm hand upon the icy cold forehead of the walnut-haired Bosmer in the bed where next she sat. Her thoughts were an utter mess of uncertainty that even for one as logical and knowledgeable of the workings of the world as she could be, she could not get over the idea that she might have overstepped her bounds this time. The Bosmer’s forehead was so cold that if it weren’t for the fact his heart still beat on, she would have given him up for lost. The thought that he might have been killed, despite everything that was done to ensure safety, then hit her heart like an anvil crashing to Nirn.

“Derelas, I’m so sorry….” Carahil whispered--tears spilling out of her eyes as she cast as good a warming spell as was known to her.

Dusk was falling, and the clear of pre-Zenith had given way to a cool overcast that promised rain the coming day. Carahil was absorbed into her research as she tended the front desk; many books lined the gilded mahogany tabletop. From the room next door to the right, the citrus smell of bergamot reigned as Felen Relas, the Anvil alchemist, brewed together potions that bolstered the body’s ability to fight off disease. It also helped prevent nausea and seasickness, making the potion quite popular, given the location. It’s too bad we haven’t figured out a cure for hangovers yet, though, Carahil thought to herself, leafing through the pages of her book and jotting down a few notes. Such a potion here would make Felen a very rich man indeed.

A loud crash shook Carahil out of her thoughts as the door flew open, and the sight that greeted her caused her blood to turn to ice. The battlemages had returned from the Brina Cross assignment, but they were all working to carry in a familiar wood elf. His skin was badly frostbitten, his clothes had frozen to his body in three places (from what she could tell), and he was unconscious, the only sign of life coming from the faint rising and falling of his chest.

“By the Gods… what happened?!” Carahil nearly screamed, all composure evaporating at the sight of the gravely wounded Bosmer.

“The mage attacked much sooner than we expected,” Arielle Jurard responded, quickly doffing her hood so she could see her way inside. “It was a female Altmer named Caminalda, she pounced before we were ready, and nearly killed him. He didn’t even have a chance to defend himself, no weapons of any kind. Why not?”

“I asked him to leave them behind,” Carahil quickly replied, fighting back another wave of hysterics, and wincing as she nearly bit her tongue off. “You knew why, we needed him to play the part of a convincing target. You were his only line of defense, by Dibella!” Carahil’s temper was nearing exploding point now. How could these imbeciles have fallen behind when they knew that the life of this wood elf depended on them? “And now look what’s happened! You can explain yourselves later, for now, get him to the treatment hall!”

The entourage of confusion hesitated at her words, and Carahil would have none of it.

“What, are you waiting for me to stick a Mudcrab up your behinds?! MOVE!!”

The threesome then sorted themselves out enough to maneuver their precious cargo inside, and hurried towards the back. Arielle moved to follow, but Carahil restrained her with an arm in the doorway.

“You will wait in the library for me to return. We have much to discuss, and I would pray to Dibella that he will survive.”

Arielle gave a dejected nod, and turned to sit among the stacks without a word. Carahil, meanwhile, raced for the treatment room, hoping to the Gods it was not too late to undo the damage that they… she… had caused.




----




A door creaking open broke Carahil’s tearful reverie, and though she did what she could to pull herself together enough to speak to whoever it might have been, it was impossible to hide the tracks on her cheeks.

“Are you all right, Carahil?” A young Breton in a plain brown outfit inquired softly, setting a porcelain cup of tea down on the nightstand beside the bed. “I’ve never seen you like this before, what’s going on?”

A long silence filled the room, but just as the Breton rose to leave, Carahil finally spoke.

“I never should have asked him to go,” she said, her voice heavy with grief and depression. “I should have waited until the mages had a better idea what they were up against.”

“Will he be okay?” the young Breton asked. Carahil turned to view her somber face. Her hair was a matching shade of auburn to her clothes, and though her face was rather plain, it was not unpleasant. On the contrary, her face combined with her equally mundane body did a lot more for her looks than even the roundest of hips could ever hope for. Hers was the face of pure, unconditional compassion, the kind of face capable of warming the heart of even a Frost Atronach.

“So long as we have someone give him warming potions and spells every hour, he should recover,” Carahil replied, “but this never should have happened. I should have waited until we were better prepared.”

“It’s no good crying over spilled potion, Carahil,” the Breton replied, “I can’t bear to dwell on how someone may have been hurt, I just try to focus on what I can do to make them better.”

“I know, Abiene, but this young one nearly died today, and it’s my fault.” Carahil practically sobbed. “Just seeing him come in today, nearly frozen solid, I wouldn’t be surprised if my heart had stopped when I saw him like that. Dwelling on how people may have been injured is one thing, but to know you’re responsible?”

“Carahil, please,” Abiene spoke in a low voice that also threatened tears, “please don’t blame yourself. It’s not like you to fall apart like this. There is no one here to blame but that horrible mage who did this to him.”

“But I nearly sent him to his death!” Carahil cried out, her voice breaking. She then buried her face in her hands and heaved a deep sob of regret. “I asked too much of him, and I almost got him killed. How can you begin to live with that on your conscience?”

Abiene said nothing; Carahil suspected she was trying to regain her own composure now, as well. It wasn't normal for her to betray such vulnerability, as she normally put her feelings aside for the task at hand. Impartiality was one of the many virtues she had taught Abiene, and she was certain she had never seen herself in such a vulnerable state before. It was likely as shocking and unnerving a sight for her as it would have been to watch an Oblivion Gate open right in the lobby of the Guild.

Abiene stood, and then went around to Carahil’s side. Helping Carahil to her unsteady feet, she then wrapped her arms around the slim Altmer’s waist, and Carahil felt her pouring every last ounce of compassion and love she had into her. Carahil leaned her head onto Abiene’s shoulder, taking several deep breaths, and struggling to find her strength once again. It was several minutes before they broke apart.

“I can watch over him for now,” Abiene told Carahil, her voice light and tender as she brushed a small lock of hair out of her eyes. “You should go lay down. You need some rest.”

“Thank you, Abiene,” Carahil replied, brushing the Breton’s cheek with her hand. “You make me so proud, seeing how far you have come.”

“Don’t forget your tea,” Abiene spoke with a small smile as Carahil left, prompting her to turn around and pick up the porcelain cup. She then gave it a sniff.

“Chamomile and Lemon Balm…” Carahil recited before sipping it. “And something strong and bitter, too… I would hazard at Motherwort?”

“I thought you could use something calming,” Abiene replied, giving yet another small smile to her mentor as she put her hand to the Bosmer’s forehead. “Jerric turned me on to the Motherwort, but be careful with it, it is quite strong.”

“He always was a fine alchemist.” Carahil mused to herself, though just loud enough for Abiene to hear before asking her a more direct question. “How has he been coping?”

“He still has the night terrors about Kvatch,” Abiene replied, “though he does say it is helping him to drink a calming tea before bed each night. It’s how he introduced me to the idea of using Motherwort, though he prefers I use about three times as much as I put in your own cup.”

Carahil repressed a grimace. “Sometimes, I wonder if Nords even taste what they eat, they wolf it down so fast.” She sipped her tea once again. “How long can you watch over him?”

“If he’s the only patient we have right now, I can keep an eye on him for the rest of the day,” Abiene replied, placing a hand to the Bosmer’s forehead, and nearly shivering over how cold it was. “He certainly needs someone right now.”

“And I can think of no one better suited to help him to recovery than you,” Carahil finished for her, draining her cup. “Felen should bring in some warming potions shortly, make sure you give him a dose every hour, and once you feel he’s ready, I’d like you to try to get him out of his clothes, they’ve been grafted on in several places.”

“And the frostbite?” Abiene inquired as Carahil made her way to the door.

“Felen has something to help with that, too. Mind you don’t touch it yourself, as it will burn healthy skin, but it should help heal the frostbite.”

“Thank you, Carahil,” Abiene bade the Altmer as she made her way out, prompting Carahil to pop her head back into the door-frame.

“No, child, thank you,” she said. “Thank you for being there for me.”

----

Post Script: Character Abiene from Jerric's Story used with permission from Grits.

Ah, poor Derelas! That frost-bitten mage was just a bit too much for him, eh? And yes, where the heck were those so-called battlemages!

Seeing Carahil like this is saddening, yet wonderful. On the one hand, it's a little scary because she's always so cool and competent, but on the other hand it somehow makes her more real and less like an ice princess.

Abiene here is just wonderful - seeing her like this makes us appreciate even more why Jerric cares so much about her.

What, are you waiting for me to stick a Mudcrab up your behinds?
Now that is why people steer clear of those mudcrabs!

I would hazard at Motherwort?
Have you ever wondered why there is no Fatherwort? Doesn't seem fair to you guys...

This was a risky maneuver, writing this section not from the point of view of Derelas as it unfolded, or even as he mused over it in flashback, but instead from a completely different character after the events. But I must say you carried it off brilliantly. The entire episode flows very naturally, and strongly, as if these were the main characters in your tale all along. By doing so you showed us a compassionate side to Carahil that is rarely seen under her usual 'Nun with a Steel Ruler' persona, and gave her much more depth.

Plus you gave us a delicious appearance by everyone's favorite Breton healer - Abiene, and even threw in a mention of Jerric. Now the question is, who will next make a cameo in the DF?


nits:
I am not positive, but it seems like your pov character is shifting back and forth in the second half. At first it seems to be Carahil, as we start with her alone in the room. Then it definitely goes to Abiene, as we are seeing her thoughts about never seeing Carahil this way, pouring her compassion into her, etc...


Edit: Forgot to mention. Teresa is not really all that remarkable. If she were a character living in an IRL setting, she would be all sorts of conflicted over her sexuality, and the repercussions of it. But Tamriel does not have the factors that cause homphobia IRL, and we so no evidence of it in the game. So unlike IRL GLBT people, she has nothing to fear. The worst she gets are people like Simplicia telling her that her same-sex relationships are just immature fooling around, and then when she finally gets serious, she will naturally want a man.

Very enjoyable use of flashback and other perspectives to tell the story here - handy as can be since Derelas is indisposed! I see Caminalda lived up to her deadly reputation.

“He still has the night terrors about Kvatch,” Abiene replied,'
Although I suppose one could think that this means Jerric is simply another Kvatch survivor, I'm gonna take it as a signal that Jerric is the Hero of Kvatch in Dere's tale.

'and once you feel he’s ready, I’d like you to try to get him out of his clothes,'
Yes, that Dere trademark clothing problem. . . .

What a joy to see Abiene here! And you did such a nice job of bringing her to us. A nice look at Carahil being less. . . Carahil as well.

Nits?

'The thought that he might have been killed, despite everything that was done to ensure safety, then hit her heart like an anvil crashing to earth.'
Your call, but I would consider Nirn here.

'A door creaking open broke Carahil’s tearful reverie open, and though she did what she could to pull herself together enough to speak to whoever it might have been, it was impossible to hide the tracks on her cheeks.'
This small case of repetition in close proximity could be easily fixed by simply eliminating the second 'open'.

Argh, I've fallen so far behind! So sorry about that--I'm working on catching up again!

Chapter 8.3 and 8.4 review

What a relief that Sylvia the Sylvan Ranger was there to save him from that miserable and lonely death! (btw, I love the name choice--for one thing, I almost made Sylvia Syl's full name, but abandoned that idea for whatever reason...lol).

The air around him exploded as his robes were set aflame by the heat and magnitude of the spells.

I loved this line--what excellent insight! One sometimes forgets the power of electricity--it reminds me of that awful, heart-breaking scene in The Green Mile--great film, btw!

Blue Clues Loved the title! I wonder where you got the idea from...?

"Worst they would've done is kill you."--lol, I thought the very same thing he replied with--some comfort that is!

I also liked the flashback sequence that explained more about the Welkynd Stones. I didn't know that much about them--is that from the lore, or did you come up with the explanation yourself? Either way, very good!

Lol. I like the part where he has to figure out how to knock the stones down from their pedestals--something I think all of us can relate to! Also, his temper when he couldn't get the Step stones to work was priceless! I could just picture the little Bosmer with his hot-temper, getting frustrated with them! Loved all of it! Great write!