Fair dues...That last chapter was both epic and brilliant...

Loved the bit in the armoury, brilliant stuff...

Excellent!!...Looking forward to much more...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Ok, I doubled the spacing for now so tell me how that works. I also added a chapter-number to the top and will retroactively add it to the previous ones. (I hope I haven't miscounted) And if there is any character who still needs to go in the list on the first page, please tell me.

The last time we saw the Mythic Dawn they were sitting in their cave doing a grand total of nothing. Today we return to see them sitting in their cave....doing a grand total of nothing!




Chapter 9.8


Mythic Dawn Sanctuary


The 'temple' of the Mythic Dawn posessed an elegance that couldn't be seen from its crude appearance. It was the largest chamber in the sanctuary, blasted out of the rock through the combined efforts of all three Camoran's. But they had employed more than mere brute force. Every casting, every bubbling stream of fire, every crackling blade of thunder, had been tailored to carve out the essentials of a place of worship, making it seem as if the mountain itself had grown the shrine within its heart. They'd coaxed the still halfmolten rock into an elevated platform and upon it an altar. They'd made rows of kneerests for the worshippers to kneel upon, pillars that held pools of slow-burning oil. They'd made all of that and most important of all was the representation of the temple's deity. A statue of Mehrunes Dagon over five metres tall, its four hands reaching over the altar, its brow brushing the ceiling. None of the Camorans were sculptors and the stone figure bore only the vaguest resemblance to the Daedric Prince, but they'd taken care that none of the Dawn were knowledgable enough to point out the flaws.


It was now almost an hour since the last service had ended. The faitful had left to tend to their duties and sacrificial blood cooled and coagulated in the groove running from the altar to the statue. And yet the priestess remained, dagger still in hand. Words repeated themselves in her mind and she shivered at the memory of her tongue moving on its own.
"Do not deny me!"
She reflected that it had been a good thing she'd sent the acolytes away before actually summoning the Daedric prince. The brutish and indiscriminate nature of the real Dagon was not in any way like what the prophet had made them believe.


Do not deny me. The words were the last in a long series of similar threats Dagon had made her speak all the times she had summoned him. But today they held more meaning than before. Today their father wasn't around to placate him and Uriel yet lived. Their plans were unravelling before her eyes and she couldn't think of anything to save them.


She remembered the dagger in her hand and laid it down on the the altar, next to the Khajiit she'd killed and whose heart she'd offered for the summoning.
"At least we no longer have to turn over every tenthpiece to buy the furballs. That should please my brother." She thought, and then, "He must hear this."




Raven was exactly where she'd left him. If he'd moved at all, it hadn't been much. He was still buried in the same stack of books, scrolls and loose pages which he read and reread over and over. Occasionally he rubbed his tired eyes, or reached for the cold coffee at his side. Even his thoughts were still the same, as evidenced by the absentminded greeting he gave her.
"I have said all I intend to say, Ruma. Please, don't bother me any further. I am quite busy."

The Altmeri woman bristled at the idea that Raven still believed she only cared about Harrow. While the man was important to her, as a rare source of comfort and companionship, she was a true Camoran. If needed, she could and would leave him to do her part in securing the family's future. She shoved aside most of the clutter on his desk and put her fists down on it.
“Don't ignore me! Dagon says he’s tired of our pitiful sacrifices and wants to see if we are as good as we say.” She yelled at him, making him reel back. He looked at her, then at the bloody palm prints she'd left all over his desk and documents. Then he sighed.


“In other words, he wants more blood and more screaming. What else is new? If he wasn’t so easy to manipulate, I would have spoken against aligning ourselves with the Prince of Destruction.”


Ruma wondered if she'd gone too far. Raven needed to be told, but was it worth destroying whatever he'd been working on? No, she decided. She had done the right thing. Raven was like their father, Mankar Camoran, with his desire to have everything planned out and written in paper before he did anything. But sometimes one had to forego planning and play it by ear. Such as now.
"Pay attention, brother. We can't cage his nature with pretty words forever. The honoured user called our bluff. We have to act now." She warned but the other mer reacted as she'd feared, true to his nature.
"Give it some time." He answered her. When she sneered at him, he raised his hand and continued in the same exhausted and disinterested tone of voice.
"One day, Ruma. That is all I ask. If father hasn't returned by then, we’ll make our own choice.”


Ruma was silent as she tried to figure out how she could make him see her way. Raven was a good mer. He was exceedingly smart and driven. Though they'd both been honed by their father into nigh superhuman creatures, masters of many skills that would be considered a lifetime pursuit on their own by lesser beings, they had not profited from this education in equal measure. Her brother had been superior to her in the ways Mankar valued the most. And he knew it. It made persuading him nearly impossible.





She moved to turn away but then the paper she'd rested her hands on drew her attention. Whatever it told, it was now too obscured by Khajiit blood to tell, but the few words she could still see had not been written by her brother, or her father. Raven who had noticed her pause, answered the unasked question.
"Do you remember the simulacra I made and inserted into Cloud Ruler?” He said with a nod to the stained letter.
She remembered only vaguely. All of the shapechanging monsters had been put in their positions years ago, before the Dawn existed. But there was one who had infiltrated the Blades' secret base, putting it right at the heart of the Imperial intelligence network. Meanwhile, Raven continued.
“It chanced to send us word. The emperor arrived at Cloud Ruler a few days before the writing of this letter. First, the general things are as we already expected them to be. The Emperor is paranoid, rightly so. He is always guarded by one and often two of the four he still trusts. Fenasim of the palace guard, and three of the fighting Blades who were being inducted that night"


The Blades. Warriors of almost legendary prowess, each worth as much as the complement of an entire fort. Under the right circumstances, and the Blades were masters at making the right circumstances. Even the simulacra would need the advantage of surprise or superior equipment to overcome one. The thought of having the monster kill the emperor died with Raven's news. She knew that this had been the first thing Raven had considered himself. Given the situation, he would choose to keep the doppelganger as a source of information rather than risk it in another assassination. Besides, the Septim was mostly harmless as long as he was trapped beneath the gletsjer.
“Including the one who nearly murdered Harrow.” Ruma growled. The emperor could stay, but she wanted that man. She wanted him on her altar so that for once, she could enjoy plunging down the ceremonial dagger and tearing out a still beating heart.


“The very same. The other thing we guessed is that the Grandmaster himself has given up his usual carefulness and stormed to Cloud Ruler for answers. What we did not guess however, is that he didn't arrive alone.” She instantly forgot about Harrow. Raven didn't need to elaborate on why this was important. Jauffre rarely went to Cloud Ruler and he always went alone. Even his most trusted bodyguards were left behind. For him to break his own rule could only mean that his mystery companions were now the Dawn's utmost priority. More important than Uriel in any case, who wasn't going to leave the Blade's hideout any time soon. Who were they?


Raven pinched his nose, then admitted that he'd told her everything the letter had said.
“She, actually. And I don’t know. Jauffre’s companion is only described as an elf, most likely wood elf.”
“Most likely?” Ruma repeated the words to herself. The three species of mer in Tamriel were almost impossible to mix up by mistake. The Dunmer were grey and red-eyed, the Altmer universally tall and with a golden tan mere sunlight could not produce. The wood elves, were short and backwards barbarians. That Raven’s simulacra actually harbored doubt was to say the least, troubling. Its mind might be less stable than they’d foreseen. Perhaps it would be best to spend it on an assassination before it degraded entirely.
“Apart from the gender, this woman is one large question-mark. Name, profession, background, age. It’s all a blank. Worst of all, she came carrying nothing but the clothes on her back. Who travels like that?” Raven said and threw up his hands in disgust.


“Someone very confident, brother. Or desperate. Peasants and mighty mages.” Ruma answered. The man shook his head.
"Scratch the peasants. Jauffre makes for a good spymaster, but he doesn't do charity."



Ruma could think of few kinds of people who travelled unencumbered, and even fewer who would be connected to the Blades' Grandmaster. She supposed the woman could be another Blade, someone trusted by Jauffre and brought in to help guard the emperor. Four people was too small a guard detail to maintain for an extended period. But the flaws with that idea were self evident. The only Blades that were beyond suspicion were those who had been stationed far away in other provinces, the ones who had been ignored by the Dawn for being too far from the emperor. But that same remoteness that prevented their replacement with simulacra, now kept them away from where the action was. There simply had not been enough time for Jauffre to summon him or her. And there were no women at the old Breton's usual base of operations.
“Then who, brother?" She asked him, "Have you any idea, or even a guess?”


Raven waved at the bloodied notes scattered on his desk.
“Several," He said, "each more unlikely than the last. The best I can give is that this woman is an up till now unrecognized heir of the big man. I'm sure you see the problems with that hypothesis.”


“A woman, and a wood elf at that? These Cyrodiliics are supremacists. They want their emperors to be Imperial like they are. Of course I see the problems!” Ruma laughed and shook her head. The idea was simply beyond ridiculous, even if it was the best they could come up with.
Even if the Septim claimed the woman took her mother’s features, as was often the case with mixed blood, and even if he managed to sell the Elder Council on accepting his elvish daughter. If! The counts and all the common folk would never accept such a heir.
“And there, Ruma. There you have my problem. She wouldn't function as a heir. Besides, a political pawn is the last thing he needs right now. For the moment Ocato is competant enough to keep the Empire whole and running.”





The woman began to pace back and forth through the room. Her brother was right again. Bringing someone whose value was measured in connections or gold to the remote temple would be counterproductive. What the Septim needed now was a strong arm. But why directly contact this woman? And why only one? Why not hire an entire hall of fighters?
"The question isn't who Jauffre's friend is, but what the Emperor knows." Ruma muttered to herself. The plan had not been for the emperor to survive. But he had and with that survival, came a certain amount of knowledge. Now what did the old man know and what would he do with that knowledge?
"He survived a direct encounter with a simulacrum. And Jauffre has gone to the palace first. So he also knows what you took from the vaults. But other than that, I doubt he knows anything." Raven said with a shrug.


He picked up the stained letter to see if he could save it. When it turned out he couldn't, he began to transcribe it onto a fresh leaflet from memory. In doing so, he gave Ruma more time to think. Time she spend well. Time enough to reach an answer that satisfied her fully.
“Aha! The Eternal Champion!” The sorceress exclaimed at once. Her eyes glittered with pride at having solved a problem her brother could not. Raven however, merely glanced up for a moment before he returned to his work.
“Pray tell, what of the Champion? He has been dead for thirty years. There’s a big mausoleum and annual procession in his honour. We were there at the burial. They even opened the coffin!” He muttered.


It had been the first day of the fifth century, supposedly one day after the defeat of Jagar Tharn the usurper and the restoration of the real Uriel Septim to the throne. The Black Courier had been as efficient as usual at delivering the news throughout the province and even beyond while the mages' transportation services had worked throughout the night to teleport tens of thousands of people from all Tamriel to the capital. It had been a fantastic procession. A thousand bards singing in perfect unison, the entire first legion marching in full ceremonial gear. The coffin, carried on the Septim's golden wagon, was a slab of solid ebony crafted into a seagoing galleon. Figures of gold and silver manned the rigging. At its prow, greater than the others, was one carved from emerald glass. A figure whose features where concealed by a robe, striking a heroic pose. A sword made of diamonds pointed ahead in one hand, the other cradled a staff. There was no room left on the wagon besides the coffin and rather than riding in a second vehicle, the Imperial family, as well as the Elder Council, all walked behind it. If the grandness of the preceding elements hadn't convinced any onlooker of the importance of whoever lay withing the coffin, the humility Tamriel's elite showed by walking through the dust scattered in its wake left no room for doubt.


When they'd actually displayed the fallen hero amidst respectful silence, Ruma had to admit she was dissapointed. The scorched body was smaller than she'd expected and burned to the point it was impossible to tell whether it had been a man or a woman, elf or human. She did think she saw what might have been the base of a tail once. But that had to be an illusion played on her by the distance from which she looked upon it. No beast would ever amount to anything, especially not the greatest hero in history since Tiber Septim.


“I thought the Hand was supposed to be smart." Ruma said, "Tell me, my clever brother. How hard would it be for the Septim to obtain a random corpse and declare it to be the Eternal Champion?”


Raven sighed and put aside his pen. He looked at her for a long time before answering.
“It would have been as simple for him as ordering bread from the baker. But I must warn you, my dearest sister. There is a line between conjecture and wild fantasy, one which you are about to cross. Even assuming that the Eternal Champion lived, why now? Why wasn’t he…she, why wasn’t she involved with the miracle of peace? Or with that business in Vvardenfell recently?”


Ruma let out a sigh of her own. Both incidents where still mostly mysteries, even after all the money and connections their father had thrown at them. The Eternal Champion could have been involved, she may not have been. For all they knew, the Nerevarine and the Champion were the same person, though overwhelming evidence from Morrowind had fixed the reincarnated Dunmeri hero as a Redguard man, not a female mer.


"Uriel has been chased out of his own palace, at the hands of his personal guard no less." She began to explain, "He needs someone who he can send back out into Tamriel. Someone who he knows won't betray him and someone who can't be stopped by any opposition. The Septim will be looking for top-ranked knights, peerless sorcerers and uncatchable thieves. Heroes. Someone who is to a Blade what the Blade is to the regular bread-and-butter thug. And as you said, he knows what we're after.” Ruma grinned and patted the pocket in her robe where she kept an knobbly rod like Raven's. One of the two world-pieces they now posessed.
“So who better to call in than the Eternal Champion? After all, no one has as much experience with the simulacra and the world-pieces as she does. It would also explain your informant’s confusion. Berkman theorized in his treatise that the Champion developed the arts of illusion in response to Tharn’s own. Even today she must be maintaining a veil to hide in obscurity.”




Raven heared her out and presented questions to test her theory but Ruma remained convinced of her theory. In the end the Hand of the Dawn made his verdict.
“I see no flaw with your logic, but it remains farfetched. I think you see connections where there are none. With that said, I learned what we get from underestimating our enemies. It can't do any harm to overestimate the Septim's allies for a change." He said and gestured towards the door, bidding for her to leave and let him work.
"We will proceed with the assumption that the Eternal Champion does indeed still live and has come into play. I’ll have to sketch up some plans for dealing with her. Not to mention find a way to appease Mehrunes Dagon. We simply can't afford to play our hand yet.”


Ruma turned in the dooropening and looked back where Raven was already stacking his endless papers, oblivious to her presence.
“You do that, brother." She whispered with a grimace.
"You fool. You plan and plan. Every minute you spend now, thinking up counters to counters, is a minute the Septim spends acting! I know what must be done and by the Aedra, I will do it."

What a lenghty chapter indeed! One full of descriptions, too. The fact that the three Cameron's made the shrine of Dagon within the cavern shows their artistic talent! I like how you wrote that here.

What truly captures my attention aside from your storytelling gifts and knack for writing descriptions is that you wrote some of it in the point of view of the characters in the Mythic Dawn. Ruma, for example. This was all on her perspective. I like how you took us on the Mythic Dawn side. Most stories here are during the time of Oblivion and that's good and all, but they are almost always anti-Daedra or anti-Dagon. It's good to see you changed this a little and offer us a humorous and yet darker side of the story!

I wonder what awaits Ruma and Raven next! Ruma has a change of heart while Raven is still much like his father. I do wonder what filial conflicts will arise from this! Juicy story!

*Must...Restrain...Self...*...

Nope, not getting into it today... ...

Aaaamywho...

Brilliant stuff matey!!...

It is a brilliant thing to be showing both sides of the story, I am loving how you're doing that...

That the characters are wonderfully interesting is also a fantastic bonus!!... ...

Oooh, the much history contained in this post is so well done...Speaks of a good long think about things...I like that a lot too!...

Fantastic writing...An excellent tale...

Oh, and I went and looked at the Dramatis Personae at the start, the only ones that stood out as being missing are Jennifer Renaud and that cool Altmer from the CRT armoury...I identify with grumpy older characters for some reason... ...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Only two more chapters to catch up, but my PC keeps crashing and losing the notes I was making to comment. Really frustrating. You are doing an excellent job with the characters of the Blades, especially Baurus - what an interesting character you have developed here!

Another place you've excelled is with the Mythic Dawn, the personalities and subtle skewering is hugely entertaining. I'm loving seeing the two factions written out as separates and watching as they slowly converge. Your storyline is so in depth for this, I am loving it! Great Writing, all of it!

This took way longer than it should have. So another Angoril part next.


Lycanthropic-Legend: This story still is mostly anti-Daedra and anti-Dagon. I mean, the guy is called Prince of Destruction. I honestly can't think of a way to portray him in a neutral or positive light. But yeah, I wanted to make the Mythic Dawn into more of a mindless horde of cardboard targets for the hero to cleave through. I think I'm managing that well so far.


McBadgere: Renault and Fenasim? Thanks, I'll add them to the list. And I also kinda identify with grumpy old characters. It must be the beards. (Do Altmer even have facial hair?)

mALX: Ah, computer crashes always suck. Even if there is nothing lost and no damage done, you just keep worrying it's gonna break for good!


Anyway, onto Angoril getting some lunchtime.



Chapter 9.9

Kvatch


He missed the eatery at first, even with the sign hanging outside the door. It was one of the guard-towers along the wall, looking identical to its sisters on each side. The same foreboding grey stones stacked atop each other in a massive cylinder and even the banners shared the same wolf's head that was Kvatch's code of arms. The only features that set them apart were the aforementioned sign, the glasscovered firingslits and smoking chimney on the one, and the elevator that supplied the catapult atop the others. It told him both of the wealth the Geydars posessed, and the peace Kvatch had known for quite some time. Any other combination, and the count or his commander of the guard would never have permitted a guard tower to be turned into a diner, especially one so near the main gate.


The inside of the tower was a different story. Though the thick walls made any large alterations impossible, its owners had seen fit to cover up the unsightly stone with fine woodpanelling, lanterns and carvings of the Cyrodiilic landscape. Vines writhed along the ceiling whose flowers spread a nauseatingly sweet smell. It was as if someone had transplanted a part of Fallinesti, the living and mobile treecity of Valenwood, to Kvatch. In fact, that was likely the case, Angoril reflected when the floor reached out with a hundred tendrils to scrub and polish his shoes. He hadn't seen a trained plant like this anywhere else.
"This must be what Tanner meant when he said Bosmeri through and through."


He followed the goldplated signs through the narrow corridor and out a door on the other side of the tower. The actual dining area was a balcony just outside the city walls. There commoner and highborn alike dined around tables, though there seemed to be an invisible divide between the classes. Angoril paid them no significant interest. There were no familiar faces from the old days, and he knew nothing of the new.
"A stranger? I love strangers!" Something tiny rushed in, grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him to one of the empty tables with more force than he would have believed possible.
"Just plop your shiny butt down here and forget about all your worries! Taendril, this big fella is your type! Give the hunk some fun, would you?!" It yappered and was gone. In its place came an Altmeri woman who sat down opposite him.




He did give the mer the attention she deserved. Garbed in the traditional dress of central Summerset, her face etched just right and her poise nothing short of perfect elegance. Angoril held no illusions regarding her role. She was part of the service, a hostess, there to entertain and make sure the customers kept coming back to spend their coin. She was a professional in acting just the way the customer wanted. He discarded the idea of using simpleminded Tennil on her. She might just see through it. And being in the proverbial den of the wolf, he wasn't going to pull the 'old friend of a relative' card either.
"That was?" He merely asked and pointed at the little Bosmer who ran from one table to another with nary a pause, holding what looked to be three different conversations at the same time.
"That," Taendril remarked with a sweet smile that made his heart flutter for an instant. He pushed down that feeling. "little whirlwind of boundless energy is the lady Geydar, proprietess of this here fine establishment."


He watched the Bosmer, who he now knew was Rajn Treesap/Geydar, rush to an alcove, grab a plate and then dash up to deliver it at the same speed. Was she always this wild? She looked older now that she was in her sixties, with a few graying hairs, but physically she seemed to have the energy of a young child. Even for a Bosmer, it was a bit much.
"And here is your menu, sir. Please ask me anything. And I mean, anything." His own hostess giggled and produced a booklet from somewhere. Angoril idly flipped through the pages without reading it. He doubted he could get anything substantial out of the target herself. Just from this first observation he could see that there was no way, barring obvious magic use, to hold her attention long enough for an indepth conversation. All he could say for now was that she looked happy, and that prying her away from this place would be difficult. And he didn't have a reason for prying her away from anything. Having the wood elf search for the emperor's assassins was an exercise in futility as only a fool would keep wearing a disguise used in a crime once already. And they got too close to success to be fools.


"Alright, I'll bite." He said to the Altmeri in front of him. "What's the secret behind the little one's success? I very much doubt it was her reasoned and well-educated econimical planning."


"A sizable starting capital," Taendril said with the slightest lift of her shoulders. "enough to survive all beginner's mistakes such as taking a loan from the wrong people. How she got that money is anyone's guess. She would tell you she got everything from Uriel Septim's own treasury. Well, most of it."
The page with Argonian meals. From experience, recipes from the Black Marsh were more focussed on removing or neutralizing poisonous ingredients for the health of anyone who wasn't an Argonian with their extra strong stomach-acid, than they were on presenting something edible. He moved on.
"And you don't believe that version." He muttered over the menu.


"Haha, I believe half of it. It is obvious that before this she'd never done an honest day's work in her life. I mean, you should have been here in the beginning. Plenty of nice-sounding ideas, but no idea on how to do anything from cooking to cleaning to drawing in guests. Her husband isn't any better. But that she stole her money from the emperor? No, I don't believe that. She says a lot of things."
That was his key. Taendril loved to gossip, and not because it was her job. He let her talk freely, prodding her only when she trailed off and pretending to weigh each meal offered as if he was an Altmer of the most delicate Summerset bloodlines. What was he looking for? He didn't know himself. Probably nothing, or merely a hint at the past that had gone by him while he meditated in his cell.


"Like that dragon-shaped clasp she keeps over the fireplace. Looks like it's been shoved down an Atronach's throat." He remembered that. It had been his after all.
"Always keep this on you, my students. The Spire guards its heart with neither rest nor mercy. Hold the mark of its master, or perish at its hands."


"Have you seen her man? Looks like a thug, one of those dark elves." He vaguely remembered Aran Geydar. A tall imposing figure, forged by the storms of Red Mountain and battle. With his spear, he knew few equals and in a different time he would have been a Blade. Or a primitive hunter in his tent. Perhaps he had been the one who assembled the Vvardenfell section of the menu, offering ash yams and Kwama eggs stewed in Scrib yelly.


"The plants are wonderful, don't you think? The Bosmer can weave it like a carpet, or train it like a dog. Give them the right carrot, like that crystal ball mounted over the door there..." Her mouth snapped shut as he jumped up, toppling his chair in the process. Angoril stormed to where Rajn Geydar was pirouetting with a full plate. A wave of his hand, and the plate and its dishes went flying towards the horizon.




"You unbelievable idiot! Are you out of your mind?!" The Altmer screamed at her. The air around him crackled and shivered and the viny carpet fled from the murderous heat.
"What in the Nine possessed you to do this?! Did you even care to think first?! Did you stop and think about all the people who bled for it, or did you just see it as a shiny trinket! And for what? Because it is incomplete it is now a harmless piece of junk? Did nobody teach you how to be responsible?! Ten years! Ten years it took me, ten years of trudging through the damndest places! And you treat it like some ornament! You goddamned Pillow!"


His words sputtered in his throat as he had to draw his breath. At this point everyone had scattered as far away from the raging sorceror as they could, either leaning against the railing, or squeezing through the former guard-tower's door. All, that was, but the very target of his anger. Only the Bosmer, who looked positively like a midget to him, had stood her ground. Only the Bosmer seemed unimpressed with the magic that ran out of control before her eyes. Only the Bosmer had the courage to speak in that moment his lungs lacked the capacity to form further rebuke.
"Out. Get out of my home and get lost."


Angoril fellt a hand tighten around his shoulder. Instantly the man's flesh began to sizzle and smoke, but the hand was not withdrawn. He gritted his teeth. How dare anyone interupt him! This was a matter of life and death! He didn't have time for wannabe heroes!
"Come along, sir." The man slurred around the two fangs that protruded from his lower jaw. "Ye can sober up outside. Ya don wan to let ya'r guild hear 'bout dis."


For a moment Angoril's fury subsided enough for his caution to return. He realized that he'd made a massive mistake. Not only had he potentially exposed himself to Rajn, who had all the reason to recognize him and shout it off the rooftops, and not only had he drawn everyone's attention to him. Not only had he possibly brought the mage's guild down on his head with his blatant display of sorcery, but he had also drawn attention to the artifact the little elf had been stupid enough to keep on display as a souvenir. The fact that it was still there suggested that no one had seen it for what it truly was. But now...


Angoril let the bouncer lead him away without putting up any resistance. He was almost, but not quite, thrown out onto the streets. Even the Orc, brave and apparantly immune to pain as he had been, was of a mind to give any reason for the Altmer's anger to reignite. Standing on the streets and aware that he should make himself scarce before the gossip left the Eight Provinces, Angoril's stomach found the time right to remind him that he hadn't ordered anything in the end.
"Bosmer!"

Temper temper!!... ...

Love it!...Brilliant stuff...

Sounds like a brilliant place to eat!!...

Absolute brilliance in the character department, loved them all...

Looking forward to more, as ever...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

WOO HOO! Numbered chapters! I haven't reached them yet, just read the last chapter before the numbering starts, lol.

*

I didn't take notes on what I read at my Mom's, but now that I'm back I've got my JC comment pad access again, lol.

I absolutely loved this line:



Your attention to detail is always spot on perfect, never too heavy so it is intrusive. It is ambient so you (we, the reader) absorb the details without them being a part of the storyline - really excellent!

Talking about the Spellsong reminded me of the Sixth House/the Poison Song/Tay (Dagoth-Tython) - I don't know why, but that is how it hit me in this chapter.

This chapter was excellent, really showcased your ability to take raw emotions and run them as an undercurrent in your characters, hatred/anger/defensiveness/defeat/distraction - really huge talent! Awesome Write!

Chapter 9.8:



This whole segment was bone-chilling! The implications that Dagon was more involved with the Mythic Dawn than the figurehead shown in game is an immensely powerful idea I have never seen in any fic before - extraordinary thinking here!

You have really upped the level of intrigue in this chapter! I have to number this up there among my top favorite chapters in the whole story, Awesome Write!

Will be back to catch up the last chapter!


*

Chapter 9.9 - GAAAAH! He should have just grabbed it and run out the door with it, urk! Oh no, there will definitely be repercussions from drawing notice to it, and now he can't get back inside and remove it ... GAAAAAH! Awesome Write ... and portentious for unfortunate consequences. Urk!

Ugh, I'm finally done with this part. This also means that chapter 9 is now officially over! (Angoril needs to do some breaking and entering, but that's a small piece I'll tag onto chapter 10.) Speaking of which, he really should have kept his cool and swiped the thingy of doom in the middle of the night.


As for the spellsong thing, I wanted to give Pyandonean magic a slightly different feel. Singing was the first thing that came to mind and why not? Dagoth Ur and his ilk had sound-based magic so it wasn't as if there's no precedent for it. Of course, I don't actually do anything with the Maormer spellsong beyond mentioning it because Latta sucks at it.



And now for the update. Sorian the Redguard and Grey-Tongue the Argonian investigator have chased some 'thieves' to the slopes north of Bruma.


Chapter 9.10

Ysmir's Tongue


We'd taken up residence in the gletsjer-guide's shack while we waited for him to return. It wasn't going to win any prizes. Fireplace, bed, table, two chairs and a beaten book that was two reads away from falling apart. Still, the shack was the best place to stay. Wickedly cold winds streamed in from Skyrim and without the cover offered by the building, we would have frozen to death in the night.


I heard them before I saw them. The sound of snow and ice being crushed underfoot were unmistakable. It almost made not lighting a fire worth it. Almost.


I crept to the window and gripped my sword with one hand and the black knife with the other. The argonian rapped his tail on the floor and waved at the blank wall behind him.
"They're coming from the gletsjer." He hissed. As if I didn't know that. It's where he sent the Skyrim brute after all. I just hadn't expected him back this soon. Actually, I hadn't expected him back at all. It made no sense anyway. Why would a thief come back with its tail tucked between its legs because someone sent it a letter and asked nicely? And speaking of the gletsjer, wasn't the other side at least a full day away just getting there? It hadn't even been that long. This stank like a setup to be honest.
Grey-Tongue looked at the sword and gestured me to leave it sheathed. Was there any furniture by the door? No, fine then. I could probably draw in time if needed.
"This had better not be a trap." I muttered.


The crunching passed behind the shack to the front and then there was the rattling of the key in the lock. I pinched my nose and swallowed. The moment of truth.




Kort, the Nord guide, came in with his hands held up and horns of ice hanging down his beard. He had been under the gletsjer. Was Skyrim closer than I thought? I waved him to the side of the door where I could see him. But he hadn't come alone. An old legion scout followed him in. And then a Redguard, and a shorter man covered top to bottom in thick furs. I looked from one to the other. They were all coated in the ice that told me they'd ventured through the tunnels of Ysmir's Tongue. But who were they? The legion man, looking crossly at Grey-Tongue and me, he was too old for the job. Legion men and women passed their fighting prime were either moved to a desk or command.


The Redguard though was far more worrysome than an old grump too incompetent to get promoted. He was like a walking arsenal, two swords, a bandolier full of knives and dressed in a patchwork armour of leather, a few bits of plate and some chain. A sellsword if there had ever been one, and a good one at that.
"Ok, stay there." I told the lot of them and decided to keep my distance from the mercenary. He gave me the chills. With the way he kept his arms, he could draw either sword or a knive with only a slight movement. Definitely not an amateur.

"Hello. I was hoping you would come. Please have a seat. I made some tea." Grey-Tongue said behind me. The furmummy made muffled noises behind his scarf as he stared right at me with his pure white eyes. Oh, crap.




The Dark Brotherhood had come to kill me! My fingers felt like wax as I fumbled for my sword. Maorlatta pulled down her scarf. I finally managed to get the Shamshir out. She was going to kill me! She and that sellsword! How was I going to fight against elf-magic?!
"Seriously, I go away for a few days and you get your face bashed in? Do you like picking fights you can't win or something?" Wait, what?


Before I could even get over the surprise, the sellsword had gotten his own sword out. The Shamshir flew out through the window and the back of my head smashed into the floor. I blinked at stars and looked at the sword that was terrifyingly close to my throat. It was a simple type found in any legion of Tamriel. Double-edged, no decoration, triangle-tip. Good for hacking and stabbing, though not perfect for either. It's almost funny how one's mind becomes occupied with the stupidest details when looking death in the eye.
"Baurus! Step back! He is not an enemy!" The Wood-elf yelled. So she wasn't brainwashed afterall. I suppose I should be happy. That didn't make what she said next any better.
"He's a friend, though he's also a total idiot with the self-preservation instincts of a generic masked underling. Seriously, sir Redguard. What did you do this time?"
Well excuse me for worrying about you. And did no one ever tell you that throwing stools at people is cheating? I heard Kort laugh. The honoured user.

At least the sellsword listened to her and pointed his sword somewhere else. Was he on her payroll and if so, where did she get the money? I was still carrying all the coin we'd made from the Ayleid haul.


I held up my hand in the hope that the Redguard would help me back on my feet, but no such luck. Instead it was Maorlatta who pushed me back down, scolding me about trying to get up before she'd checked my injuries. Meeting her here, unmolested even, was an incredible coincidence. The kind that didn't happen without the hand of a Divine to help it along. Was this what it was? The Divines telling me my fate was with her?
"Well, one thing is for sure. Life hasn't been boring ever since I let myself get dragged into her problems. Wished she actually did something about my wounds other than poking them though."



While the pale-eyed wood-elf poked and fussed, while the Redguard hovered behind her like a particularly frightening scarecrow, while Kort was the only one to help himself to tea, Grey-Tongue and the forester had pegged each other as the brains of their respective outfits and begun negotiations of some sort. I quickly lost what they were talking about as they threw too many technical terms back and forth. In the end I asked Maorlatta. Maybe she knew. It didn't seem like Grey-Tongue was interrogating the thieves. Where these people even thieves? Surely the little elf-girl would never let herself in with criminal scum.
"Sir Grey-tongue is arguing why you and he should not be executed right now."
He's what?!


Arguing why we shouldn't be killed? What kind of situation were we in?! We hadn't done anything wrong. Why would that forester want us dead? I don't even know how to hunt, I couldn't possibly poach anything! Maorlatta clasped her hands against the sides of her head and recoiled.
"Don't yell in my ears! I think he's winning. He just used pragmatism as an argument. That's always hard to beat." She screeched.
"But still, why?" I asked. The girl sniffed and for a moment she looked as if she'd swallowed a sour lemon.
"Because Jauffre is an ill-mannered controlling person with extra-legal privileges and responsibilities. Now shut up and stop wiggling your nose so much."


She continued looking at me from all angles and tapping with her finger till I had enough. Asking me to not sniff was one thing, but whatever she was doing wasn't working. There had to be an easier way to fix things. I remembered the last time she had tried to heal someone and did not look forward to being filetted like a fish. I was keenly aware that the knife she'd used for that now rested in its makeshift sheathe on my sash. It was definitely better to distract her before she worked herself up to Maorlatta the Ripper.
"Can't you cast a spell and actually do something about it? It would save time. Or are you some pointy-eared freak of nature who can't?" I asked her. It seemed to light a match.





She put her hands on her hips and pouted with trembling lips. Then, she burst.
"Well unlike someone whose name I shall not mention, I know my limits and don't go stepping over them at every opportunity. First the living corpse, and now a fight in a tavern? What are you, an overly excited fiftier who thinks he's immortal and has something to prove to his childhood sweetheart? Grow up already instead of swinging that metal weedwhacker of yours!!" I may have touched a sore point, but no way was I going to let an insult to all Redguard's prowess stand.
"Hey! Don't forget the vampire. I kicked his butt!" I yelled back at the wood elf.

She blinked, frowned and silently mouthed the word vampire over and over.
"What vampire?" She mumbled in the end. At this point, I was as confused as she was. Where was the vampire anyway? The Dark Brotherhood was as tenacious in keeping its recruits as it was at killing people. So why was she here now, as huffy as always and with a complete hatred of fighting? It made no sense.
"The one that you know, took you and all. I saw it, he saw it too!" I stammered, waving in the Argonian's direction and began to think again that this may be a trap.


"Sir Sorian, " The girl started, "there was no vampire. I am quite convinced I would remember such an occurence."


But it had happened. How could it not? I'd been there, I'd seen it! I looked to Grey-Tongue for help, but found none. When the Argonian did stop his argument with the forester, he only did it to back up Maorlatta.
"The princess is indeed correct. The fire curtain was ineffective the second time around, there was no sugar next to my tea and there were no footprints all over the carpet. A memory is an unreliable thing next to the truth of the world, Sorian. Especially a fabricated one. Ergo, what we both saw was something the Blades planted in our minds so they could steal a most important witness from me. I do however have a question. Princess, may I have a moment your time?" I broke my head on his explanation. It made sense if magic could do that, but why would the Blades of all people want her? And wait, did the lizard just call her princess? That had to be a joke.




She turned to him with an air of 'anything's better than talking to this idiot'.
"Certainly. How may I be of assistance?" How she did not pick up on the obvious sarcasm was beyond me. Where was her castle? Her crown and faithful manservant with a sword of silver? She was as far away from being a princess as you could get.
"When we first met, you asked me to bring you somewhere. Are my services still required?" Heck, when I first met her, she was dressed in rags! She was a delusional and strangely smart beggar!
"No, that matter has been resolved. But I thank you for your concern."
"Excellent." The Argonian hissed with one of his bare-toothed smiles. "I apologize for not recognizing the name before, princess. The university's librarian was most forthcoming in resolving this failing of mine however. It won't happen again." SHE WAS NOT A....but the Arcane University knew her name. That place was the biggest vault of knowledge for the sake of knowledge in all Tamriel. So did that mean, it was all real?

Grey-Tongue nodded and turned his attention back to the forester. The balding man gestured to the door.
"What are you still doing here?" He barked. "You have your mission, now go undertake it!"
Kort was laughing again when we left.



"Wait, you are really a princess?" I asked her as I followed her outside the shack. I was stunned. Meeting an actual princess? No, fix that. Meeting an actual princess and saving her life as the first thing you do? That was the kind of thing heroic songs were all about! I'd gotten myself half a kingdom and the king's favorite daughter's hand in marriage without even knowing about it!
"Did I ever say I wasn't?" I looked at her with new eyes. It explained so much. Her general haughty attitude, her fussiness over getting dirt on her, her general uselessness in anything that wasn't brain-stuff. Yes, she was princessy now that I thought about it.


"Well," I began. She'd said she was a merchant. Royalty did not trade, it was beneath them. But I wasn't going to say that to the face of one, especially when she had a Redguard bodyguard at her beck and call.
"I didn't know. I thought that at the gate when you told that guard. I thought you were lying, bluffing." What else was I supposed to believe when the elf you found in an alley starts talking down the guards like that? She looked at me sharply before answering.
"I wasn't. The only lie I told then was that you were part of my official entourage. I am Maorlatta Orgnum, of the House Orgnum, of the ruling family of Pyandonea. My g, father is the king so yes, I am a princess. I own land, a kelp farm, a fishery, collect taxation, speak law and if I find the time for it, I do charity. Any other questions?"


I tried to think of anything, but couldn't think of something to say without setting her off again.
"Err, no. Not really. No, I am completely without questions, your highness." I said and tried my best bow.
"Good, now don't mention it ever again." Know what? I'd take the kingdom, but I'd pass on the king's daughter's hand.




She suddenly dug into a satchel on her belt and took out what looked like a fishhook and a tweezer. I looked at the two tiny instruments in her hand and felt my eyes grow big. The ripper had come out.
"Oh, and speaking of favours." She said in an innocent voice that didn't fit her intentions. "Please hold still for a moment, I wish to do something. It's not magic, but I do have a few ideas on how to fix your face." Yes, I really should settle on just the kingdom.
"Err...I think I'll pass. Yes, definitely. There is no need to concern yourself with your humble servant. It is but a scratch."


The elven princess rolled her eyes.
"Humble, you? Auri-El have mercy upon me. I think the world might be ending." She groaned but to my relief, she didn't press the issue. I could feel the sellswords eyes on my back. He was obviously not happy with her decision to bring me along, but couldn't speak against her. As for me, I did feel kind of bad for abandoning Grey-Tongue, but the Argonian was a tough one and escorting real royalty was definitely the bigger job.
"Fine, it's your body and as far as I can tell, not fatal. But don't blame me when you can't win over any free women with it. Now come along. I'm not letting you out of my sight again." Maorlatta said and turned down the path towards Bruma, still muttering. "You would probably try to wrestle a flying tree the moment I turn around."

Your description of the Redguard was spectacularly visual, I pictured him armed to the teeth but cool as ice - in control of himself and whatever situation may arise - especially with this next addition to it:

I found myself holding my breath wondering what would happen next! Awesome writing here!

My suspicion was it being Baurus - you have done such a tremendous job with his character in this story! I am green with envy over it, he is exactly how I would imagine he should be as the Emperor’s Dragonguard!

Also loved this little detail - even with no experience in this, I’m sure this is true:


Surprisingly (because I’ve never found them in your writing before) - a few words had letters missing - I suspect your keyboard has a key or two that have just started sticking, mine does the same thing lately.

The auto-censor ran you ragged in this chapter, but I knew what it should have said so it didn’t hurt the immersion at all. (It would have taken a heck of a lot to break the immersion in this chapter).

Very tense and wonderful write, then the relief and humor Latta brought was priceless!

To have Latta and Angoril brought together again gives the feeling of a circle closing - I have to go back to the beginning in the Archives and re-read the prison cell/tutorial dungeon scenes again and look back on how far they’ve come since then - Loving this story, you are an amazingly immersive writer!

I was already laughing at Angoril trying to get a hand up, then saw that Latta pushed him back down and rolled! You have given her so much personality that I could easily picture that! Then Angoril’s inner dialogue - you nailed that paragraph for so much more than just the humor. You managed to display both their personalities plus the back and forth between them that marked their interactions in the past - and was so much fun to read!

Loved this whole chapter, and it left off feeling like things are about to start happening in a big way now that they have re-met! Awesome Write (as always!)




*

Keys missing? Could you point out where? My lappy is practically factory-fresh. It would be a shame if anything was wrong with it already.

Oh, and I think you made a mistake. Angoril is down south in Kvatch. Maorlatta is still north of frosty Bruma. This update was about Sorian, the ansei-worshipping hero-wannabe.

Oh, (Doh!) I actually did wonder how Angoril got there, even scanned back to the last chapter to see if I had missed something!

I read the heading where it said Sorian and Grey-Tongue chased some "thieves;" knew Angoril was in Kvatch last chapter - then (like a total idiot) saw the first person POV and thought it must be Angoril anyway.

So (thinking it was Angoril) I thought Sorian was the Redguard that came in with Latta, (till she called him Baurus). Urk.

Latta did have that easy give and take chatter with Sorian too, and I did remember her filleting him in the Ayleid ruin too, Gaaaah!

My bad. I am so sorry, I will reread that chapter from Sorian's POV - mea culpa.


*


The elided letters - if the laptop is new it could just be a question of finger pressure or positioning on the keyboard being different than what you are accustomed to. Like I said, you've never had anything like this in the entire story, so I knew it had to be a keyboard issue.


"They're coming from the gletsjer." He hissed. As if I didn't know that. It's were he sent the Skyrim brute after all. (where)

It's almost funny how one's mind becomes occupied with the stupidest details when lookin death in the eye. (looking or lookin')

"Please hold stilll for a moment (still)


As you can see, these are all obviously keyboard slips (either not enough pressure or not used to the new finger positioning on the first two. The last one - either a sticking key or the keyboard is too sensitive to direct pressure.


On this next one it is keyboard dyslexia:

I quickly lost what they were talking about as they threw too many techincal terms back and forth. (technical)


The last two were probably just missed in the edit:

"Sir Grey-tongue is argueing why you and he should not be executed right now." (arguing)

"there was no vampire. I am quite convinced I would remember such an occurance."
(occurrence)


In over a year of reading your story you've never had any error pop up on my radar, so I was absolutely sure you had either spilled something on your keyboard and it was sticking (or a different keyboard than you are used to).

I'll go back and re-read the chapter from Sorian's POV this weekend. I'm really sorry I messed up on that, Jack.


*

Thanks. I've went over it again. I also discovered I'd turned off spell-check in word. That doesn't help.

Lol. It's funny how as a reader you get used to a writer's style, and a slight change makes you stop and say, "Huh?" I've never seen errors in your writing before, it was so unusual that I really hated to even mention it. Grits and Acadian's stories are the same - never an error. I just feel really stupid for my brain failure in not realizing that was Sorian's POV. It has been a very tough week for me, I claim exhaustion as an excuse (no joke).

Cool!!...

The Blades were excellent... ...Baurus rocked... ...

I do love Grey-Tongue, he's really cool... ...

Excellent stuff...

Love it!!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Teeny nits...The auto-censor thing...And, unless you caught the other key thingies you missed there's -



Too...

Brilliant stuff Jack...*Applauds*...

That one was intentional actually. Since there is no real place to wedge the explanation into the story, I'll just do it here.


Genetically speaking, king Orgnum is Latta's grandfather. Politically speaking however, he recently adopted her as his daughter, making him her father instead. Her real father is still alive, but this little act gives her the rights to specific land and titles. Most importantly, it makes her look more important when she's sent to meet with Uriel Septim. Afterall, 'daughter of the king' sounds a heck of a lot more impressive than 'granddaughter of the king from a remote branch nobody cares about really'.

She's not used to it and informally still thinks of the king as grandfather and has up to this point referred to him as such. In the formal meeting with Uriel she first referred to the king as her father and she almost slipped up with Sorian.

A short one. This update features Angoril, the Altmeri sorceror who is trying to find the Mythic Dawn. His search has led him to a Bosmer named Belgoth, who possibly provided the distinctive clothing of the Dawn. However, since the mer has been murdered before Angoril's arrival and since he can't just ask for his ledger, Angoril has chosen to break into the store under the cover of the night.



INTERLUDE


Upper Kvatch


Night fell on Kvatch, but the city only darkened to the point of a rosy glow. Lanterns lit the streets, Braziers burned atop the walls and the temple and inner keep both glowed with magical stones.


To Angoril this presented both difficulties and opportunities in equal measure. The main difficulty was of course in the lack of total darkness that would have hidden his actions. The Altmer debated the problem with himself as he walked towards Belgoth's store. He could make himself invisible, or he could use an illusion that made him appear like Ludius Bester of the Kvatch Hall of Mercantile Interests. Both had their drawbacks and risks. Invisibility was basic, but people were suspicious to objects moving on their own, such as a door opening or closing. The illusion would be far more difficult. It required an eye for detail not just in the physical but also in the man's mannerisms. Having a Bester enter the dead Bosmer's store, perhaps to pick up some documents, would be less suspicious. But he didn't know if the real Bester had returned to Lower Kvatch and who had seen him.


Angoril sighed. He would go with invisibility, along with a spell of silence to mask his footsteps. Unless someone was using magical sight, he would be undetectable. And better a regular thief trying to make some coin out of a rich corpse, than a man who couldn't possibly be there doing something that was quite out of character.


He rounded the corner to the street that housed Belgoth's on demand fabrics. The sorceror had already removed himself from eyes and ears the last time he walked through a shadowy ally. Not even the mugger napping in an empty barrel had noticed him pass by.


There was the door. Angoril looked around to see if anyone was watching before he went to work. He drew upon the air, turning it into an extension of his hand. The attention his telekinesis required was almost too much and for a moment all three spells he was now maintaining wavered. He pushed the thoughts of doubt aside and redoubled his efforts. Within the lock his ghostly hand went and probed, then delicately clicked the thumblers in succession. It took multiple tries and several combinations before the door released itself. Angoril took one last look around, then slipped inside.


"That was almost too much. I should renew my practice when I have the chance." The Altmer thought to himself as he wiped the sweat off his brow. He elected to drop all his spells, using only night-eye to give him the vision he needed to navigate in the dark. Invisibility was not needed in an empty building and neither was silence if he practiced discretion. He turned to relock the door before walking up the stairs to Belgoth's office. No telling if Bester or some other thief got the same idea he had. The advance warning could be critical.


The office was exactly the way it had been this morning. The stacks of books, both scholarly and novellas though all with the merchant-trade as their theme, the desk and the deer's head mounted on the walls. Angoril had thought of the order to do things and went to work at once. He ignored the books, as well as the wall-safe behind the deer's head. The head had been shifted which was how he'd discovered the wall-safe in the first place. There was a good chance it had been emptied out already. No, his first goal would be the desk. He knew it kept documents of some sort that Ludius Bester had deemed important enough to review and keep hidden from him, yet of a nature that kept him from moving them out of the store.


The lock on the desk was simpler than the one on the door, just a single tumbler that fell to his telekinetic finger in seconds. The Altmer retrieved the documents and laid them out on top of the desk. Next he opened the satchel he'd bought at a general goods store. From it he took a handful of dirt that had been generously donated by the temple gardens.
"The spell of duplication, how did it go again? Ah, yes."
He spread out the dirt next to the papers. Then with one hand on the dirt and the other on a document, he focussed. His will took hold of the dirt and enforced a new reality upon it. Grains of sand shifted beneath his fingers, coalescing, drying, hardening, reshaping, becoming a perfect copy of the document. At least for a day or two.


He repeated the process with each document in turn. A handful of dirt, casting the spell. Once he was finished he put the originals back where he'd found them, diligently removed every speck of mud he'd left on the desk and relocked the drawer. He removed the deer's head and opened the vault hidden behind it. Ironically, though the rotary mechanism of the safe was considered a greater challenge to the common thief, to a sorcerer who could directly touch and move the latches, it was easier than a tumbling lock. It was not empty as he had presumed, but what it contained was mostly useless. Some random valuables. Gems and keepsakes. There was one heavy tome however, which he duplicated.


Angoril made a quick sweep of the other rooms on the second floor. The bedroom, the kitchen, the bath and a small living room. There was nothing of interest however and the Altmer decided it was high time to leave. As a tresspasser, he preferred to spend as little time at the scene of his crime as possible. He would safely look at what he'd found in the inn-room he rented.

Oh, I never doubted her lineage, but many thanks for the explaination. What I meant that it being put as "g, father" looked odd, and thusly I didst think it a typo...Apologies...



YAY!!...I can read it without scrolling sideways!!... ...

Brilliant stuff Jack, as ever...

That was cool with the invisibility, silence and telekenesis being trouble...Nicely done that...Some people just go over the top with their magic users abilities...Pfft...Y'know?... ...

Excellently described environs btw...The mugger in the barrel was a delight... ...

OOooh, the duplication spell I liked!...Turning one thing into another but only for a few days...Excellent!!...

Brilliant stuff, loved it!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Oh? No more scrolling? I'm running on a massive screen (1920 pixels?! ) so I admit I have no idea anymore on how things look. Heck, I'm pretty convinced that the width of a line changes with the viewer's resolution. (Which makes any attempts at keeping things nice and compact rather useless. )

Anyhow, have another interlude.


Interlude 2

Mythic Dawn Sanctuary



Raven awoke with the scent of brimstone, ash and burned steel in his nostrils. Being still half asleep his thoughts were muddled.
"What imbecile has kept the fire on?" Was the first and his eyes opened.
"Who dares enter my chamber at this hour?" Was the second and he spied a figure.
"A conjuration from Oblivion?" Was the third and he saw that the figure was not human. Rather the being resembled some grand insect that had been pressed into the vague shape of man through foul magic. It was popping chitin, bubbling oils, mandibles chewing on linen and protruding eyestalks. It was a monster that fell to the floor as he watched. Raven's mind awoke and everything became clear.
"Father!"


Raven leapt from his bed and knelt down beside the man in his strange armour. Around him, his precious books and notes crinkled and smoked from the ambient heat that poured in waves from chitin, but he paid it no heed. His father let out a cry and pulled something from his side and let it fall.
"You're injured!" Raven cried. His hands felt for the wound but the other mer slapped them aside and pressed his own against the crater in his side.
"It is nothing. Calm yourself, son." He hissed. His voice was not as Raven remembered it. It was cracked from the pain, the scarf before his mouth and something else. It was different, but the words were Mankar's and brought him back to reason.


A calmer Raven observed as his father began to send his magicka into the injured flesh, closing the gap and mending flesh and blood. While he did that, Raven removed the Altmer's helmet. It was like touching the inside of a steel-oven and he needed to freeze his hands first to stave off the heat. Then he pulled the scarf free from the mandibles, undid the leather straps that tied the helmet to the neckguard and pulled out the goggles. Mankar Camoran's face was like his and Ruma's, though older and paler from lack of sunlight.
"Thank you. Call your sister. There is much to tell." Mankar whispered. Raven nodded and opened the door to his chamber a crack to speak to the guard standing watch outside. He did not give the guard a reason for why the priestess should come, nor did he tell the Bosmer that their leader and prophet was bleeding on his floor. He only told the mer to get his sister and have her awoken should she be asleep.
"Not a day goes by that the spell of silence in the walls doesn't prove its worth."


When he turned he saw that Mankar lied easier now. Most of the pain was gone as his wound fixed itself and though the outer layers of his armour where boiling hot, he seemed to be comfortably cool. At his feet was the thing he'd pulled from his side. Raven bent, picked it up and rolled it in his hands. The nature of the object was instantly obvious to him. It was a projectile, shorter and thicker than an arrow. The material put him for a question though. It had the colour of rusted iron, but the shade was too regular and the texture too smooth.
"Dwemer steel." He muttered. His sister entered.
"You asked for me, brother?" She asked him with a look of simple curiosity to the mer on the floor.
"You are not Ruma." Both father and son said at the same time.






The simulacra stood silent for a moment before it smiled.
"I am sorry. What was the mistake I made? Explain it so I will do better in the future."
"One would think that a woman is able to recognize her own father." Mankar bit angrily - "But no matter. Raven, why did you make a simulacra of Ruma? And why did you not give it such important memories as its supposed family?"


Raven shook his head.
"I didn't. And I didn't know up till now." He answered. There were but four people he knew who were capable of making a simulacra. Of those four, one was deceased. Of the remaining three, two were in this room. And neither his father nor he had a hand in its creation.
"Why did Ruma make you?" Raven asked the monster.


The simulacra's face awakened a rage in him. He wished to tell it to drop the disguise instead of using his Ruma as a mask, but he knew better than to give in to his feelings. Meanwhile, Mankar had finished healing his wound and dragged himself onto Raven's chair.
"Forget that question." The eldest Camoran said before the simulacra could answer.
"Instead, you can tell us where Ruma went." He added. The simulacra explained that it didn't know where or why its creator went. It had only been taught the identities of those in the sanctuary and what was expected of the priestess. Mankar dismissed it and turned to Raven.


"I had things to tell you and your sister. But now she is gone and she didn't tell why. Raven, what happened here?" Mankar asked his son.
"I don't know where Ruma went, but I can guess." Raven replied. He took a deep breath before continuing. What he was about to tell would be an admittance of his own failure, something he wasn't eager to do. But before he could help, his father had to know.
"The emperor lives and is currently hiding beneath Ysmir's tongue. He knows we seek the world pieces. Furthermore, Mehrunes Dagon desires us to fulfill our end of the bargain. So if Ruma is planning anything, it can be only one thing." He continued and took another breath.
"She's going after the Sphere."





The Sphere. Of all the world-pieces, it was the most unique and most desirable. Raven and Ruma could both use the pieces they already posessed to draw a small peekhole, or maintain a door to elsewhere for a short time. Mankar could use one to draw an entire building to any place he desired. But the rods only held a fragment, a shadow of the power kept within the Sphere. With that jewel of fire, even someone completely unversed in the arts of magic, could perform miracles. With the sphere, places could not be moved, they could be replaced entirely. Mountains could be made flat, lakes could fly and the stars could fall. The Mythic Dawn needed the Sphere, but there was only one problem.


The other world-pieces were hidden, but the Sphere was guarded day and night by a Blade while an elite group of battlemages resided in the mages' guild on the other side of the street. The Dawn could take it, but it would mean the end of their shadowy existence. Originally they'd planned to grab it during the chaos and civil war that would within the year after Uriel's death. Take it any earlier, before they had all the other pieces, and the emperor's allies would have used theirs to pinpoint the location of the Sphere and bring in the greatest army the world have ever known to reclaim it. But the Septim lived and he knew their plans.


"I don't know what to think anymore. Should I stop her before she loses control over the Prince of Destruction? Or should I let her claim the Sphere before it can be spirited away?" Raven admitted. Mankar grimaced. He would never admit it to Raven, but he too was at a loss for the moment. But a father had to be strong and all-knowing, he told himself.
"Ruma can handle herself. Let her have the Sphere and sate the Daedra's thirst with it. When it is done, we can retrieve her in a moment. In the meantime, I bring news."







OOC: And enter Mankar Camora. He had to show his face sometime, didn't he? Now I just need to decide on how to deliver his news.

*Jaw drops*...

Holy McCow McCloudy!!... ...

That was sooo cool...The World Pieces?!...The Sphere?!...

Hells I'm intrigued!!...

Brilliant stuff...Loving it...

Sorry I'm late btw...RL interference...

Looking forward to much more...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Oh, the thing with the scrolling, I think it was more to do with the Alduin picture than anything else... ...

Ah, the screenshot. That could be it.

And Cloudy, another interlude? What happened to the story, why aren't you moving on to the next chapter? The answer to that is that I know what I want to do in chapter ten, and Mankar's flashback is not in there. So I put it in the interlude.


Oh, by the way. This part is all Mankar talking. Everything is one long monologue. I left out the quotation marks but this is him rambling on, trying to shove too many details in too short a speech.



Interlude 3


We last saw each other just after we'd put down the final details on our plan to raid the Imperial vaults. You and Ruma went to the capital while I journeyed to the land of the Dunmer. First by carriage, then by boat. To the east, to Morrowind. Do you remember Morrowind, son? That slum of a province, where the Dunmer scrape a life out of the ash and cling to their false gods and saints? It has changed since those days.


The island I found to be much as Harrow and other Dunmer have told us. There is still the occasional ash-storm and a new foyada where Red Mountain drains into the sea. But the weather is much better than that time I took you and Ruma to Vivec. You can go outside without having to wear a scarf and goggles. I'd say there are days it is even pleasant. The Houses have actually begun large-scale agriculture in the ashlands, imagine that.


But enough about the weather and economics. That's not what you need to know. You want to know if I have been succesful in locating the world-piece. It rests here on my heart, beneath the armour. Finding it wasn't easy, and the labyrinth Dres built beneath the ash was as ingenious as it was frustrating. There were the traps of course, the undead guardians and hundreds of shrines holding false pieces. The real one was hidden within a random strip of wall. Quite clever, but not clever enough. Of course, if that was everything I set out to accomplish, I would have returned to you weeks ago. No, something came up.




It was politics that made me stay. Morrowind has since time immorial balanced on the brink of civil war. Redoran against the Hlaalu, Hlaalu against the Telvanni, Telvanni against Redoran. The Tribunal and their Indoril lackeys were inviolate as the cornerstone of Dunmer religion. It is the utmost irony that what kept that fire sedated was the mutual enemy of them all. House Dagoth. None of the Houses could afford to war against each other, for the victor weakened as he was would be devoured by the Sixth House. But the battle of Red Mountain changed all that. It was more than just the largest collission of military forces Vvardenfell had seen since its conquest by Tiber Septim. It was a revolution.


The battle involved all the Houses. Every single one against House Dagoth. They battered each other to pieces on the slopes. And when all was said and done, the Tribunal's power was broken which dooms them to a slow fading. The hawks of the three Houses, the warmongers, lay dead in the ash. House Dagoth is no more. They say the Nerevarine entered Dagoth's main base alone and defeated its leader, another immortal named Dagoth Ur, in single combat. With Dagoth Ur's death, all of his ash minions crumbled and the skies over Red Mountain cleared for the first time in centuries. The Nerevarine was never seen again.


You have heard of the Nerevarine, have you not? I hold some curiosity towards the man myself and took the opportunity to investigate in depth while I was there. I went to the places he had visited. The cities, the guilds, Tel Uvirith that was his home. I even dared venture into the Sixth House fort of Kogoruhn and the shrine of Azura. I talked to people who have seen him, or had their lives changed by him. I watched the equilibrium he has created between the houses by leaving the progressive tempered in control. I had to of course. For he would be our enemy.


Who is the Nerevarine? And is he still alive, still watching? That might just be the most important question of all. There are enough conflicting details that trying to uncover the absolute truth is impossible. Did the Nerevarine really go into the volcano, did he really kill a god? Dagoth Ur was the counter to the Tribunal, as mighty as the three combined. He can't be a fake either, for his influence on the Tribunal was all too real. Now all four of them were false gods, but with power like that the word 'false' becomes admittedly a case of semantics. I do know that Vivec never left his temple, and that Almalexia was losing her mind in Mournhold. Sotha-Sil, the third Tribunal deity, hadn't been seen in generations. So I do believe that the Nerevarine was the one to encounter and vanquish Dagoth. But did he make it out again? Mournhold makes mention of a stranger who came to Almalexia, and that she vanished soon after, raving about how lord Nerevar had returned to betray her.


The Nerevarine is according to Dunmer phrophecy the reincarnation of an ancient warlord, Nerevar. The Nerevarine was meant to sunder the false gods, meaning the Tribunal, which also handily explains why all the Nerevarine pretenders were hunted down and slaughtered with such zeal by the temple. With Almalexia's dissappearance and the preceding events, I believe that the prophecy is exactly what happened. So the Nerevarine lives.




Now who is he? You can ask a hundred people, Raven, and receive a hundred answers. What I do know is that he calls himself Luper Alkad and maintains the aspect of a Redguard man in his late twenties. He is the chosen champion of Azura, though the prophecies also calls him Dragonborn, which is a clear link to Akatosh. I know he is skilled in both sword and magic, posessed of inhuman strength and immune to all ills including time itself. And I know his weakness. The Nerevarine thinks himself safe and hidden in the belly of House Dwemer, but we will pry him free when he is weakest and eliminate him as a threat.


Hmm, the Dwemer? Oh yes, I forgot to mention that I suppose. I thought Harrow would have told you two by now. At the same time that Nerevar was supposedly reincarnated, there came a man who claims to be the reincarnation of Dumac Dwarf-king. A preposterous notion, but the Dwemer facilities and centurions do his bidding. House Dwemer has quarantined Red Mountain and no one is allowed near. I decided to infiltrate. Even if I were discovered, I knew I could flee with the world-piece.


I've been talking for too long and need rest so I'll keep this short. The Dwemer are building an army, more than what is needed to keep the other Houses from growing ambitious and try to claim whatever is sealed away in Red Mountain. I saw spheres and spiders by the thousands, mannequins of gold, armour-plated Netches, flying frigates of Redguard design but with Dwemer engineering. The Dwarf-king is building an entire fort deep inside the volcano. Worst of all, he has recovered Numidium. The Dwemer built that massive god of steel before they vanished, Tiber Septim used it to conquer Tamriel and the Summerset Isles. And now the dwarven king has returned with it. We can't ignore this, Raven. We can't! I saw Dumac, and I saw the Nerevarine at the fort. That's when a centurion saw me and fired its bow at me. You know the rest.


We need to break the Dwemer army before it can be completed. And we will do that in due time. But first we will take care of the Nerevarine. With three of the World-pieces, I should be able to manage.





Now let me sleep. Tomorrow we will summon lord Dagon.

*

First off, I am very sorry it has taken so long to get here and read. This week has been from hell. I started reading several times and had to stop, then come back and start from the beginning again next time.



Loved this little detail, something that d.Foxy instilled in me early on when writing for disguises and illusion magic. You can't just look like the person, you have to use their mannerisms/speech patterns/accents/quirks/walk and movements/and race related criteria - so this passage went over huge with me to show how adept Angoril is when on a mission. Loved this line!

What a world building duplication you created!

**

I am loving your Mythic Dawn storyline! It is amazing how you have brought them to life here, I only hope my own version of them does even a tenth of the justice yours has!

Again, your world building with this Sphere is Awesome! I was picturing the "Staff of Chaos" (aka Jagar Tharn's broken apart staff the "hero" had to collect in Arena)

**



GAAAAH! Now this is something completely different! Whoa, is a new major player about to step into the story? Holy Cow, you just threw me for a major loop !!! Awesome!

Nice bit of history in this interlude, along with some foretelling. Very intriguing stuff here!

Awesome Write, all of it!


*

As with mALX, I've had a week and a bit of RL hell, so apologies for the tardiness...

To business...

Fair dues, that's excellent stuff right there... ...

Nice run through of Morrowind's MQ for us uninitiated... ...

Brilliant stuff Jack...Looking forward to more...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

This isn't all I wanted to write today but my eyes are feeling tired and I don't think that forcing it would be a good idea. I'll get more soon hopefully. Edit: Pasted in the missing part. Technically it comes before the first half, but it felt better to put it last storywise.

As for Luper Alkad, dragonborn. I don't know if he'll play any major role but I do know that I can't just ignore him. Being the Nerevarine and not inclined to bugger off to Akavir, the Mythic Dawn will need to deal with him sooner or later. As Mankar said, he is ridiculously powerful if even half the stories about him are true. And being the hero-type, odds of recruiting him are rather slim to say the least.

And the dragonborn bit is part of the prophecy in Morrowind. Except in that game it is interpreted as 'citizen of the empire' which is a very generic trait instead of Skyrim's 'can suck out a dragon's soul and make it do tricks.'


So, chapter ten. We rejoin Hieronymous Lex several days after Mankar's return to Cyrodiil. Lex has travelled to Skingrad after having not so subtly been booted from his investigation into the emperor's whereabouts.







Chapter 10: The fall of Kvatch


Castle Skingrad


"The count will not see you. Not now, not ever. He sees no one. I've tried my best." Hieronymous Lex was at the verge of doing something he would regret. This was not the first time he'd approached the steward in an endeavour to meet the count. He'd done so first thing when he came to Skingrad. The steward, an Imperial wearing an nauseating green brocaded shirt, had rebuffed him then as well. Lex had let it slide that time. If the count wished to treat his castle as a monastary, who was he to judge? This wasn't his jurisdiction and the locals seemed satisfied with his rule. But not today. Not while he had a gunk of gold and ebony burning a hole in his pocket.
"And it's not good enough. Now I believe there is another steward. Perhaps she can try harder?" Lex barked at the man and jabbed a thumb at his similarly dressed Argonian colleague who was doing her best not to get involved.


The steward was as angry as Lex was. The man would just not give up! He chewed his jaw and finally threw up his hands in defeat.
"Fine! I think I can pencil you in." He said. "The count is inspecting the Tamika vineyards, I could arrange for a meeting there. At 2 am."


Lex exploded and did the thing he'd feared he would but was now too enraged to care about. He grabbed the steward by his shirt with both hands and lifted him off the floor.
"Two am? TWO AM?! Now you listen, wiseguy. You try to set me up one more time and I swear to all that is sacred that I'll have you tossed beneath the ground till the end of the era!" He yelled at him. Lex paid no attention to the guards that approached behind him with weapons drawn. The steward did however, and smiled. Then he laughed and said,
"Try it. There are sanctions for assaulting the count's steward."
"I'm a captain of the guard." Heironymous Lex replied icily, "Sanctions will be determined by a jury of peers. And those peers are going to call this obstruction of a lawman who is attempting to act out the direct orders of a captain. A captain who I might add will be among the jury. Now are we going to be reasonable here or not?"


"We will."




Lex looked to see who had interupted him. The voice had come from the high balcony, from which he saw an old man, paler than the snow, looking down upon him with evident displeasure. He made note of the exquisite garb, and the sparkling ring on his hand. It was the count, in the flesh. Lex glanced at the steward in his hands and the agitated guards behind him. Then he dropped the man in green like a sack of rocks. The count instructed his men to stand down and then bade the guard-captain to follow him into the upstairs dining hall. There he ordered the guards and his butler to leave so that Lex and the count were alone in the room.


Lex wasn't sure what to do at this point. Should he apologize for manhandling the count's steward, or should he give the news he carried as soon as possible? Even as he debated with himself the count poured himself a snifter of brandy. He stared into the glass without seeing it and sighed.
"So ends my hope. The prince is dead." He whispered. Lex didn't understand how the count knew this. He'd only just found out this morning himself. And he'd made sure not to tell or show anyone. In fact, he hadn't planned on telling the count either. How did he know? He looked closer at the count. His eyes were bloodshot. Had he been crying?

Count Hassildur looked up as if he saw the guard-captain for the first time.
"My senses are sharper than yours, captain. It serves you no use to hide that ring." He said and Lex took the small piece of jewelry from his vest-pocket and placed it on the table. It was the prince's signet ring. Though the gold had melted in the heat of the fire, the ebony was unharmed and prominently displayed the dragon that was the Septim code of arms.
"By right of fief," Lex spoke, "prince Geldall Septim's lands, his posessions, animals and people located on said lands now belong to you to use as you see fit, unto the time that the ruling Septim grants it to someone else.." If there still was one. Grey-Tongue believed the emperor still lived and Lex was inclined to trust his friend's judgement. But it was a foregone conclusion that the assassins would try to finish the job and they'd come terrifyingly close to wiping out the Septim bloodline already.




Hassildur stared off again at nothing. He began to talk and Lex wasn't sure if he was meant to listen or if the count was merely expressing his grief to himself.
"I kept him safe, you know. In the dark times. I hid him beneath my manor, in a secret room behind the jails. I protected him and educated him as if he was my own." The old man threw back the snifter of brandy in one quick gulp.
"Now he is dead and I have done nothing."


Lex perked his ears. There was something wrong with the man's inflection. He couldn't consciously tell what exactly but he'd developed a gut-feeling in his career. And right now, it was trying to warn him.
"You speak as if you know something." He said warily. Lex was aware that he was unarmed and unarmoured. If the count so desired, he could shout for any of his guards to put his head on a pike. But Hieronymous Lex was a man of the city-guard. If the count had any hand in a crime, it was his duty to find out and see that the law was upheld.


"I have many ears, Lex." Hassildur told him, "Many ears in many places. Yes, I know who held the torch and I know the name of his master. I know what traitorous scum murdered the prince!"
"Then tell me! Let me bring them to justice!" Lex said But the count shook his head.
"I already killed the assassins. The master is wise enough to be far away from the crime."


"So you believe there is no hope." Lex concluded and Hassildur looked at him with more intensity than he had when the man was dangling his steward in the air and promising diving retribution.
"No, I don't. But if fate proves me wrong, then remember this name. Remember Camoran. That is the name of your enemy."


Camoran. The name was unfamiliar to him. The scale of the crime pointed at a man or woman who was resourceful, intelligent, persuasive and above all, ruthless. The name was almost certainly an alias. It didn't absolve the count of suspicion, but Lex vowed to send word to Grey-Tongue and as many other inspectors he could. This Camoran posessed a large coffer of gold, but he would find that the city-guard's budget was not to be underestimated. Wherever he went, watchdogs would be sniffing for his name.



He was shaken from his inner thoughts by the count. The old man put his hand on Lex's shoulder and looked him directly in the eye.
"But look at us talk." He said. "You did not come here because of the young prince, tragic though his fate is. What news do you bring? What else is wrong in this cruel world?"


Hieronymous Lex remembered why he'd come and answered with a heavy heart.
"It is Kvatch, count Hassildur. Kvatch is burning."






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


Kvatch


The man he released got away so fast he stumbled over his own feet. The Orc kept his eyes on him long enough to ensure the little Breton fled for the balcony instead of trying to steal any valuables, then he turned his gaze to the right, where a small but growing mob of citizens in various states of dress was banging on the gates. He frowned. At just passed midnight, this was not a common occurence. And then there was what the panicky Breton had stammered to him. Monsters? Something tugged at his pants and he looked down.


"Dorrie, it's noisy." The little elf girl whimpered. She had eyes as black as her raven locks and clutched a Netch plushy tightly. Dorrie, or Doruk as his name actually was, knelt down and patted the little girl on her head.
"Ye couldn't sleep, Baleni?" He purred and threw another quick look towards the gates. While the mob and the incoherent warning had worried him, seeing the gates actually open made his blood run cold.
"Ye'd best wake up yer mother and bring her down here. Up the stairs with ye."


Doruk closed the door and leaned against the frame outside. Standing there, with his chest puffed out he made an imposing figure. Imposing enough for the increasing flow of distressed citizens to choose the still opening gates as their path of escape. But he still hadn't seen any sign of monsters or anything else that could be the cause of this panic. Except....He threw his head back and frowned. The sky was overcast, with lightning that crossed the gaps between the clouds. Storms did not disturb him, nor did it the rest of Kvatch. The empty sky he could see beyond however, was a deep crimson he'd never seen before. Perhaps it was Masser he saw, but had the moon-god ever been this big?


He heard footsteps coming down the stairs and a knock on the door. The Orc permitted it to open a crack but made sure to keep covering it with his body.
"Lady. I think ye might be right to leave town for a while." He said at Baleni's mother, who looked like a taller and more mature version of the child. She looked around and then shook her head.
"Dorrie, you know I can't just go on a hike. I have things here."
Just then, it began to rain. The Orc looked at a raindrop that struck his arm and snarled. It wasn't water that fell from the skies, but something that smelled and looked like blood. He didn't bother to taste but threw the door fully open and brusquely shoved the Bosmeri woman further inside.
"Go. Don pack. Take yer kids, take it and get off the mountain!"


She resisted him, futile as it was against his strength.
"I can't just leave! What about Gwennie?" She asked him and he looked over his shoulder at the house the eldest daughter now lived in. It was just down the street, next to the alleyway from which an imp-like creature came. It lacked wings, but cackled as it threw an imp's fire at the mass of people that fled through the gate.
"Don worry about her." He muttered as a man fell screaming. "I'll handle it. I'll handle it all."


He turned his back on her and kept watching the little monster as it ran to the gates. He heard the lady's feet go up the stairs to collect Baleni and smiled. As long as they got out of Kvatch alive, the fate of the city did not matter.
"Hey Doruk." She yelled at him from upstairs. "Don't die. You have to promise me! You have to come back, you hear me? Promise me!" She begged and he could hear the tears in her voice. But the Orc knew he could not give her the answer she desired. There was but one word he had to give, as simple a statement as it was final.
"Go."




More of the impish creatures poured onto the streets, joined by the larger forms of lizardlike giants and the flaming pires of Atronachs. Not just a few, but a veritable flood of the monsters came from every street and corner, surging like a tidal wave towards the walls. Towards him. He knew at that moment that he would not be able to save the eldest daughter. But he was still going to try.


Doruk stepped away from the door, towards the encroaching mass. He held out his arms as if looking to embrace them. One of the imps threw fire at him, that splattered against the wall. He increased his pace, his feet striking the pavement like the approaching thunder. The air around the Orc shimmered and screamed. The colour faded from his world, leaving only grey. Black vines leapt from the shadows between his fingers and dug their barbs deeply into his biceps. More fire was thrown into his path, breaking apart against his chest and skull, setting his clothes ablaze. He ran now, straight at the wall of monsters. The still whipping roots flexed and wound together into two hungry crescents that slammed into his waiting palms. Blood dripped from the teeth of the demonic blades. He roared and leapt.

I absolutely LOVE your depiction of Skingrad Castle!

Not just that, Lex's confusion over Count Skingrad, and his knowing what was in Lex's mind unspoken - you have done an awesome job with this!



This (below) was an awesome bit of world buiding!


The ending to this scene was a HUGE write, you captured that whole part so vividly it gave chills to read it!



This is bone-chilling knowing what is coming, then followed by this next quote you totally slayed me:



That stunned me speechless - HUGE, HUGE write! This chapter has to be your absolute best yet, and that is saying a LOT! I am in awe, wish they had that bowing down emoticon here like they have at the BGSF - HUGE Write!

I agree with mALX, I think this was without doubt the best chapter you've posted since I've been reading...

I thought the whole bit with Lex and Hassildor was amazing...

The reference to that bit where you meet the Steward in the field at stupid o'clock in the morning was excellent!... ...

And then...The orc!...Oh my God that was amazing!!!...

I'm hoping we see him again...I will admit to not knowing if that was some sort of spell of his own, or how Oblivion was tearing at him...But whatever it was, that whole tiny section was beautiful...

Nice one Jack, I'm absolutely loving this...

*Applauds heartily*...

I know this is rather late and short for that matter, but I'm having big trouble wrapping my head around how I want to deal with Kvatch. I still need to hammer out a few things to find a natural flow for it.


That said I am happy that everyone liked the part with Doruk. I wondered if I should have written out the fight-scene but in my opinion the tension of the scene would be better if I left it up to the reader's imagination. That, and I don't know how I could top an Orc dual-wielding bound swords while berserking while on fire.

Oh, and the bound swords were Doruk's magic though it may have been easier to cast with the intrusion of Oblivion into Tamriel. So without further ado we pick things up about a day later (wow, time flies) when the main actors arrive on the scene.





Lower Kvatch


The city was gone. I knew that, intelectually, when we left Skingrad. I knew when we joined up with the hundred strong force of chainclad men with spears, bows and axes that had been sent by Skingrad to its neighbour. I knew from the loud rumourmongering of the mercenaries, as varied in race and motive as in their gear, that went to Kvatch as well. I knew the city was gone, but I didn't feel it. Not until we arrived at the foot of the mountain.


A city is characterised not only by its towers and its streets, the boats grazing in the harbour and the gulls pecking at scraps. It is also characterised by its people. And it is the people that characterise its loss. First were the merchants, the farmers that lived around the mountain and a scant few refugees with naught but the clothes on their back, who all flowed out away from the city like ripples in a pond. The Skingrad man in charge of our group stopped a few to ask questions, then sent them on to his city for protection and shelter. They were not what made me feel. Certainly, each of them were frightened to some extent, but there was still a drive to go forward. To make things better.


It was the refugee camp that showed me the true horror. And not just me, but my companions and shields as well.
"Is this war?" Sorian asked himself and for what was possibly the first time since I met him, his confidence was truly shaken. Was this war? I asked the question myself as I looked around. I had read about it, of course. About the raids the Altmer performed on my people for slaves and sport. Of the retaliation fleets grandfather led. The ones aimed at the Altmeri shipyards. I'd read about war, but I'd never seen one. It was all before my time.


Master Zelthir had seen war. He'd been a master healer for four centuries and counting. He had to have gone on one of the punitive expeditions, or dealt with the aftermath of a badmer attack. So I'd asked him once, out of curiosity. I never got a straight answer out of him though. He said the subject was unladylike. Which was an odd moment of gender-awareness from him. Often I was led to wonder if master Zelthir even knew there were men and women, apart from the anatomical distinction.





So whatever war was like, I had no basis to compare what had happened at Kvatch to it. I looked around the camp, but there were no weapons that I saw, none of the guardsmen that were so common everywhere else. And didn't war imply armies? I couldn't see any at the camp, or up on the mountain, though my eyes weren't good enough to make out much detail from down here.


The people I did see at the camp were not like the ones we'd seen on the road. They were lifeless, sitting or laying and staring at nothing with blank eyes. Others wailed and screamed their loss at the skies. It was only a few, though still at the brink of physical and mental exhaustion, that had kept their wits about them. They tried to care for all those who could not, feeding them and giving them foul but necessary water. Some had even set up a large tent from which came the smell of open wounds and infection. Finally towering above the camp was the city itself. Even though the refugees tried to keep their eyes away from it, it was impossible to forget its presence. Dark walls cloaked in darker clouds that roared with an everlasting storm.
"See that? " Baurus said to us. "The skies anywhere but over Kvatch are clear and those black clouds don' t follow the wind. Whatever it is, it's unnatural."


This place rattled my bones. It wasn't just a war that had happened here. Something had emerged here, something that didn't belong. I could feel it, in my teeth and bones and above all, in my head. It was like the ache of spellsong. The pain that came with changing a world that didn't want to be changed. But I wasn't doing anything. It wasn't me. I just wanted to get away from here right now and how anyone could possibly choose to stay here was beyond me. At least for any good reason, that was. I had my own duty to the House Septim which for me at least was enough to stay. I shook away the worst of the shivers and focussed on our mission. The chainclad Skingrad leader and a second, unarmoured, man had accosted one of the active refugees and asked him who was in charge at the camp. They were directed to a path that snaked up the mountain to the city.


"Sorian." I said. "Follow those two and find out what happened."
"Of course, your highness." The young Redguard snapped a salute at me and then casually wandered after the Skingrad officers. Did he not feel the evil in the air?
"You know, you will have to explain to him sometime that calling you that isn't safe." The older of the two Redguards said with a shake of his head. He was right of course, but for now I was just happy that Sorian had begun to follow my instructions without constantly complaining about them. I'd promised myself to have a talk with him. As soon as we had a day where I wasn't sore from horseriding or rushing to a disaster-area. For now I contended myself with pursuing the emperor's will. That was the other reason I'd sent Sorian away. I would have to explain to him why we were taking two children to Cloud Ruler, but until then Baurus and I had chosen to remain silent on the subject unless he was asleep and even then we talked by scribbling and burning notes.


Ironically, as careful and subtle as we'd been around him, so blunt were we about to be now. There was no other way to do it. I'd been throwing Blades recognition signs all over the moment we got here, but so far there had been no response. While the signs looked like nervous jittering to the uninformed and were unnoticeably small unless specifically looked out for, I had expected someone to contact me. I checked my vest-pockets for any random notes that had found their way in, but there was nothing I hadn't possessed already. The stealthy approach didn't work. Either there were no Blades in the refugee-camp, or they were lying in the tent with the injured. In both cases my title of Agent would be of little use to us. I pointed to the surgery tent and Baurus nodded. It was time to go to work. I just hoped that the boy and the girl had made it here. There weren't enough people down here to populate even a tenth of Kvatch. Was this war?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~






OOC: It never made sense to me how nobody seemed to care beyond what happened to their own city and even then their response was apathetic at best. I mean, even if Count Skingrad would love to see Kvatch ruined (and I don't think he does), it is in his best interests to find out what's going on and how to prevent it from leaping over to his city. Hence the hundred-strong light infantry and assorted mercenaries he's sent to Kvatch.


Another thing that didn't make sense to me is for the survivors to camp right beneath its walls in easy striking range of the Daedra. That element of wrongness is still in my version, but I plan to wrangle out an explanation for it.

Here come the Blades!... ...

Her musing on what was war reminds me a bit of the Fallout that I'm doing at the mo, for some reason...That could be just me though... ...

Excellent stuff Jack, really enjoyed it...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

You've really captured the essence of confusion in the aftermath here, and I like your idea that people don't just talk about the destruction of Kvatch, but investigate it to ensure it isn't something that could happen to their city.

Agreed on the refuge camp being so close to the action, and in open door tents that could be easily ripped apart or entered by Daedra. Awesome write!



Off topic: The Great Gate in Bruma has a siege engine just like the gate in Kvatch had that broke through the wall into the city and destroyed it. According to the game, if you don't stop the siege engine in Bruma in time you will see what happened in Kvatch (happen to Bruma).

Am I the only one who waited it out hoping to see a cut scene of the siege engine crashing through the walls of Bruma? (and instead just got a freeze screen with the words "You Failed in your mission, all hope is lost, Cyrodiil was destroyed, etc")

It wasn't to be evil; just curiousity, to see what the developers had in store for us there just in case we failed.

(The same curiousity that in Fallout 3 made me jump off the sides of Mothership Zeta and "test" removing my G-suit in outerspace to see if it would kill me). (it did).

War, war never changes.


And Malx, of course you're not the only one who does stupid things just to see how the game responds to it. I do that stuff all the time. For Science!


Ok, this is not a proper update. Yeah, it's been like 20 days already but I'm as slow as ever. Instead, you get a very short segment that may or may not contain anything important. At the very least it was a nice short exercise in writing something different. Enjoy!
Edit: Got the next part up as well. Also more of my random ranting.



Chapter 10.2


Oblivion



The manflesh had entered the Big Boss. Soft, tasty manflesh. Scampes burned them, Smallteethes tore them, Bigteethes swallowed them, Bosses cut them. Boom, slash, gnash! No more manflesh. Only their bits now. Shiny bits, sparkling bits, boring bits. So many bits.


Scampes looked for the nice bits, the shiny sparkly bits. Scampes nudged the manflesh, fingered their falseskin holes, broke their boxes and grey bunkers. Scampes took the nice bits, traded and stole them from each other. There was one Scamp, running and climbing where big boss ended and manflesh lived. Where Bigteethes couldn't fit. It was a strange place, this manflesh fort. There was bloodgrass that didn't cut, spores that didn't poison. Gaps to places that weren't there. It was a strange place, so safe it made the Scamp nervous. But it had shiny bits, oh yes. So many shiny bits.


So the Scamp crawled and slithered, taking a bendy metal bit here, a soft falseskin there. It found a glowing bit, curved and scaled like the Bigteethes, a smaller bit of fire in its mouth and eye. It was a nice bit, very shiny, very rich. The Scamp reached to take. It screeched. A big foot of black rending claws and cutting blades smashed its hand down into the not-cutting grass. Snarling the Scamp looked up. Who dared take the shiny bit form it? Who dared hurt it? The Scamp would burn the other and take the shiny bit. Oh yes it would!


But the other was not a Scamp, or a Smallteeth. It was black bone and burning flesh. It wore death and tortured soul of Scampes, smallteethes and bigteethes as a falseskin. It had giant hammer of pain and crushed skulls on its back. It was a boss that stared down at the little Scamp. The worthless, weak Scamp. It looked, silent and terrible. The Scamp bowed, crashed its brow against the ground of soft grass. The foot lifted and the Scamp ran.


The figure in black picked up the golden clasp and turned it in its hand. It closed its hand around it, gentle yet firm. The floor beneath it swayed and turned to water. The figure sank to its depths and was gone.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Upper Kvatch


Hieronymous Lex's first impression of the refugee camp at Lower Kvatch was that he had a lot of work to do. The camp was sorely lacking in organization but more pressing for him were the parasites who always seemed to pop up after a disaster. They were holed up in the barracks and tavern, protected by caravan guards they'd bribed. There they dined while everyone else starved and hoarded critical supplies, such as medicine and daily necessities, only giving them up when exorbitant prices had been paid.


As captain of the guard, Lex swore he would deal with that before the day was up. But first he needed to see how secure the camp was. Restoring law and order would help no one if a conquering army stormed down the mountain. It was with that thought in mind that he accompanied the Skingrad commander, a typical nord with blonde hair and beard and biceps that would make an Orc respectful, up the mountain to where a second camp lay. Unlike the refugee camp below, the upper camp was supposedly a barricade held by the Kvatch watch.


The camp was right before the gates, close enough to make the Skingrad men who'd joined them visibly nervous. Lex had no experience at warfare himself, but he knew why. All it took was a few good archers or a mage atop the walls, and the watch was as good as dead. The Guard-captain glanced towards the walls but he saw no enemies looking down upon them. If anything, this lack of activity only made everyone even more nervous. After all, the only thing worse than an enemy one could see, was one you knew to be there but couldn' t see.


The Kvatch watch turned out to be a handful of dirty stragglers, and a few caravan guards who had volunteered for the assignment, which placed their value far above their colleagues in the lower camp as far as Lex was concerned. All were carrying bows and stood in a line with their arrows strewn on the ground before them. There was one man sitting on a milestone behind them with his spear resting on his lap. He was wearing the chain and leathers which Lex knew to be the uniform of Kvatch and had a military haircut. To reinforce his observation was the tabard the man wore over his armour. Though the wool was burned and ragged, the wolf's head that was Kvatch's code of arms was unmistakable. Lex and the Skingrad commander exchanged a look and approached the spearman.
"You are the one in charge?"






The man turned to look at them. When he saw the twin moons of Skingrad on their coat of arms, he saluted and got to his feet.
"Savlian Matius, sirs. I'm the captain of the guard here." He said. Lex noticed that Matius was not wearing the indications of rank a captain would actually have, but said nothing. Arguing the point would get them nowhere. Instead he returned the salute and let the Skingrad commander introduce themselves.
"Ulberth Stone-Breaker, Skingrad's siege master. And this is Hieronymous Lex, from Cyrodiil."


Matius shook his head upon hearing Ulberth's title.
"We saw your army on the road," He told them. "but it's not going to lay siege to the mountain. You need more men for that. Far more."
"I didn't come to conduct a siege."Ulberth answered and Lex explained. "We're here to investigate and rescue people. For that Count Skingrad has given us enough men to hold a contested position for some time, but not enough to fight a war. Now, what is the situation in Kvatch?"
To their surprise Matius began to laugh. It was a humourless laugh that vanished in a sigh.
"In Kvatch? Sirs, there is no Kvatch. I don't even know if the mountain is still a part of Tamriel!"


Ulberth and Lex exchanged another glance. Neither knew what the man meant. How could Kvatch not be a part of Tamriel?
"Akavir? But wouldn't one of the coastal cities have been hit first then?" Ulberth ventured, naming the one place he knew off that lay beyond the continent. But Cyrodiil lay at the heart of Tamriel and Akavir was far to the east, beyond Morrowind and the ocean. It was a place where no man had gone to or come from in centuries.




They waited for captain Matius to regain his composure and an explanation of what he meant. But he didn't say why Kvatch had left Tamriel. What he did say was how it was lost.
"It all happened so fast. I had gate duty that night. People came running, pursued by a horde of monsters. They came out of nowhere, just stepped out of nothing like ghosts. One moment there was nothing, then there were thousands of them flooding the streets as far as I could see. Imps, Argonian giants, living figures of fire that flew through the skies. We let the citiziens through, as many as we could while the commander went down and held the gates. They were the lucky ones, the ones who were awake and ran. But most didn't. They slept, or tried to take things, or holed up in their houses. We," He began to cry as he remembered and covered his face with a hand.
"I ordered the gates closed. Left the commander to die. Couldn't let the beasts out. Couldn't let them out."




Lex took the spear out of his hands and gently embraced the man, letting him cry. The guard-captain's first feelings had been of anger. Anger at Matius for abandoning his post and essentially ordering the death of his superior. But he realized that if he'd been there on the streets, fighting off the monsters, closing the gates would have been exactly what he'd want Matius to do. In doing so Matius had ensured the survival of at least some of Kvatch's citizenry and somehow contained the enemy within the city. There was no way he could make the man believe it, but Matius had done the right thing.
"It's alright, Matius." He told the man instead. "We're here to help now. How's your quarantine? No breakouts?"
"No, sir." The Kvatch gatekeeper sobbed but just then the skies were shaken by an unearthly shriek. All turned their attention to the walls and Matius took his spear back. He stood ready to leap in front of the archers and protect them from attack but it wasn't needed. The creature took barely five steps beyond the city walls before it was pierced by a trio of arrows.
"Nothing major." Matius corrected himself and pointed out where the being had emerged from.
"There's a small gap in the wall, part of an eatery. Occasionally one of the little ones comes through and we deal with it. But never the big lizardmen, or the living torches. Only the wingless imps."



Ulberth Stone-Breaker nodded and then took Lex aside.
"Lex. What do you think?" He asked the Imperial with a whisper. Lex stole a quick glance at Matius who had sat down on the milestone again with his eye on the opening.
"Captain Matius is obviously suffering from survivor's guilt and the loss of his city." He said. "He and his men are at the breaking point and quite frankly I'm surprised they haven't collapsed already. I suggest the organization of multiple shifts to ensure a constant watch on the walls."


Ulberth slapped Lex on the shoulder and nodded.
"My idea exactly. I expect the poor captain to protest being ordered to rest, but he won't object to us relieving his men. Oblivion take us, having someone else take command is probably his greatest wish."



The Nord turned away to start giving out orders. Scouts to inspect all sides of the city-walls for gaps, archers and spearmen to plug the one they were aware of and some wood elves with their keen eyes to keep watch on the top of the walls just in case. Lex allowed him to divide up most of his men before he requested some of his own.
"If I may, master Stone-Breaker. I would like to borrow a good dozen of your troops. Lower Kvatch needs the rule of law and some uniforms will make all the difference."
"You'll have them. If the situation up here doesn't change by nightfall, I'll send the courier to arrange resupply. Make a list of what you need at the camp."








RANT-TIME


Kvatch is Bethesda's way of showing the invasion from Oblivion is a real and serious thing. (I personally would have preferred if the main enemy had remained as the Mythic Dawn, but that's just me.)

It doesn't quite manage to make that message stick, but I chalk that up to limitations of the game engine and a bit of a lackluster follow-up. The lackluster follow-up is because Kvatch is the only city that actually gets wrecked. Everyone else only has people stare blankly at a gate ruining their country-side view while occasionally popping out a Daedra or two. It makes the crisis feel like it was just that one wave and then a lot of empty air, but admittedly it is nice for people who want to avoid the main quest without having DOOOOMMMM hanging over their heads all the time.

The limitations of the engine are more forgiveable and yet have a bigger impact. The lore that came after Oblivion tells us that the crisis was a massive Tamriel-wide (possibly world-wide, but we never hear from beyond our one continent) event with ransacked cities and armies fighting the Daedra etc. On a personal aside, I prefer to think Argonia was kept safe by just being so drat poisonous and inhospitable to anything not local, rather than the Argonians going on a hardcore mad counter-invasion that made Mehrunes Dagon crap his pants.

Anyhow, the later lore makes it feel big, but the game is unable to match that scale without blowing up your hardware platform of choice. So the developers by sheer necessity shrank things down where they could. I'll take the example that is most relevant with this part of the story. Namely Savlian Matius holding the gates of Kvatch.


In-game, (all by memory, so I won't vouch for my accuracy here), Savlian stands in front of the gates alongside two other guards to protect the refugee camp from the Daedra. That he choses not to ignore Kvatch and its hordes of monsters is good. That he somehow managed to find the time and opportunity to erect a barricade of sharpened wooden trunks is even better. However, his opposition is just two or three Scamps running from their Oblivion gate. Even at the compressed scale the game employs in general, it doesn't feel like much of a threat. Heck, the player is expected to handle those kind of encounters solo about five minutes later. But then again, you're the hero and supposed to be above the normal man or woman. Worse than that is that the barricade is utterly useless, as Savlian and his men will cheerfully charge out in front of it to meet the Scamps in close combat.

Again, this is all limitations of the game engine. Savlian's troops are equipped for close combat so the ai seeks to deliver them into fighting range, treating the barricade as an obstacle to get around (the same way it treats any random rock or fence or wall) rather than something to hide behind for cover. If they were archers, ai limitations and hitbox issues would probably have all the arrows hit the barricade instead of going through or over the visible gaps in it. So regrettably, the barrier doesn't do much but I don't see how they could have done it differently. At least it is a nice bit of scenery detail and doesn't leave the refugee camp totally open.



Moving ahead, you may have noticed that in the story I did not make mention of the Oblivion gate that sits before Kvatch's own gates. That's because there isn't one. The gates in-game can presumably appear anywhere, so having them pop up outside the fortifications (you know, on the side where all the defenses are strongest), is kinda silly. Yet game engine limitations again, it's better than placing the gates inside the city and having to hand out even more immortality tokens than are already present just to ensure everyone doesn't get wiped out piecemeal by random Daedra before the player can even arrive.

In my story however I don't need to worry about that and can happily have the invasion commence from the inside and catch everybody with their pants down.

*

First off, I loved the first bit from the scamp's POV! The golden dragon-shaped clasp at the end of that section (the one that used to rest on that shelf and that Angoril threw such a fit over) - it felt like the story behind that clasp just came full circle and is about to explode the story wide open. I'm always on the edge of my seat in any of the chapters that touch on Angoril because he is such a powerful enigma, and that clasp for its mystery and intrigue.

At first I'd thought it was Angoril taking the clasp from the scamp, but then the floor swaying and turning to water, and it sinking down into it - really couldn't be sure that wasn't a Daedric Lord grabbing that clasp.

I am so loving this story!

The scene with Matius/Lex/and Ulberth was so well done, extremely well done! I was easily able to visualize these powerful men meeting and discussing the size of army and their purpose, what remained of Kvatch, etc - but this line floored me, you never cease to amaze with these tiny details that are so huge in reading your story:



This next line was chilling the way you wrote it - we all know what happened in Kvatch, but you've brought it to life with your rendition of Matias here:




On your rant:

The very first time I played Oblivion, my son got me started on the game; letting me watch him play intermittently and then handing over the controller. When things got too tough for me (and I was shrieking for his help) he'd grab the controller back just long enough to get out of the situation. He did this through to getting Martin to the Cloud Ruler Temple (which starts 25 gates opening up around Cyrodiil).

Well, I was terrified to go into the Oblivion gates again, so just left them opening whereever they did (which on the random ones happens to pop up whereever the player has been). Meanwhile I just started doing all kinds of other quests. One of the quests I did was the Dagon Shrine. (at which point the Oblivion crisis escalates, opening up the gates outside the cities and another 25 random gates).

The game will open a total of 60 gates in any one game, 10 of those are fixed gates outside of cities.

So I had 60 gates open and was doing nothing with them. The Daedra emerge every time the player enters that cell, meaning if the player leaves without tackling them, they will attack anyone within their reach till the player leaves the cell.

My game got to the point that there were dead bodies everywhere. Countess Leyawiin and her handmaiden, Mazoga, many mounted Legion riders, the residents of Water's Edge, bandits, dead horses everywhere - and I couldn't walk anywhere in game without the sky rumbling and turning red. I was TERRIFIED !!!

After I became adept at handling Oblivion worlds I liked taking them down - I started taking them out as they arose. Never again experienced finding dead bodies everywhere or not being able to take a step without setting off that rumbling red storm - I never had that feeling of terror again, the game crisis lost a lot of excitement when I started handling them right away.

Weirdly, I kind of missed that fear that I felt in my first game, missed the crisis being that big. I think they actually do have an Awesome crisis in place if your character is a terrified chicken playing like I was in my first game.

*

Excellent stuff!!!...

Loved that bit with the scamp!!...Who was that mighty dude who dids't walk the land with his mighty mightiness?!!...Impressive stuff though... ...

Ah, the mighty Salvian Matius ...Fair dues, that was an excellent section right there...Loved the Nord dude, really quite excellently done...

I'm looking forward to seeing how you bring all your various protagonists together...

Amazing writing, love it hugely!!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Huh, that's a very good point there. When I played, I'd either avoid triggering the gates entirely or closed them all asap. It never occurred to me that taking the middle road would lead to a proper crisis. Maybe I should experiment.

As for who the mighty Dremora is, we'll hear in due time. But first we have another helping of Hieronymous Lex. Just one more part with him after this, and I'll be ready to set up for the climax of the chapter. So....another three to four months?




Chapter 10.3


With the dozen troopers Stone-Breaker had promised him, Lex returned order to Lower Kvatch. He also brought captain Matius. Not because the familiar face and code of arms would give an air of legitimacy to his actions, but because the man refused to rest and the only way to get him off the front lines was by ordering him to take part in some other assignment. He intended to have the man organize the relief efforts once they got going. First however, Lex went to the tent of the healers. He had to know how the situation was in there.


The answer, as it turned out to be, was not good.


There were no beds of any sort, with most patients lying on a matrass of their own clothes. Half of the healers looked passed out and those who didn't fumbled around in shock. Family and friends got in the way, further complicating things. Lex looked but saw precious little of the tools he'd come to associate with the healer's practice. No potions, only empty bottles strewn about. No herbs and powders, though a mortar and pestle sat at the feet of a heavily burned man. No scrolls, no books and no rolls of bandaging. It was chaos, with but one oasis of calm and certain action.


She was there. Cutting and sewing with the precision of an artisan, red hands moving so fast it seemed like they'd barely touched a wound before going to the next. If Lex didn't know better, he'd say she was under the influence of a spell. But Grey-Tongue had told him the elf appeared to have an aversion to magic. What she was doing wasn't magic however. It was the healing arts all mothers knew. The art of cleaning the wound and stopping the leaking of blood so that the body could repair itself. Only hers was like the difference between a master-at-arms and a raw recruit. A raw recruit who was very, very drunk.


"I still don't get how putting a knife into people actually makes them better. But the results are there." Lex thought to himself and tensed the tendons in his legs. Only a slight ache and stiffness reminded him of the knees which the Dark Brotherhood vampire had cut. The same knees the Maormer had repaired like the broken axle of a wagon.






He thought about approaching her but choose not to. She had been in his convoy and there wasn't anything for her to tell him. She also hadn't shown any sign of recognition over the day and frankly, he didn't want to get in the way of the Redguard she'd hired for her protection. The professional one, not the fop who was still up near the walls. The man was now occupied warding off all the worried people who couldn't understand what she was doing but Lex still felt he was aware of his presence as he'd been the moment they joined the convoy. He had that look Lex had seen only in exceptionally perceptive people like Grey-Tongue.


Instead of tangling with that brute for no reason, Lex approached what he assumed to be the most senior healer in the camp. At the least she was the oldest, a wrinkled crone with twig-like fingers that trembled from both exhaustion and the old-man's shakes. At first she waved him off and when Lex offered his help, she accused him of trying to steal the last coin of people who didn't have any. The Guard-captain grimaced.
"Madam, if I took money from you, I would have to arrest myself." He said. That got her to turn and look at him. She saw his deskuniform, and Skingrad's soldiers behind him.
"You're not from here. Stendarr's mercy, did the Empire see our plight?"


"We saw your city burn from Skingrad, and came. More will come in a day. Now madam, can these people be moved?" Lex asked her. It seemed that the 'enemy', for lack of a better term, wasn't going to leave Kvatch in force. But he didn't feel like taking chances. If the injured could be taken to Skingrad or the nearby port-city of Anvil, they should be. There they would also have access to the healer's facilities rather than this dirty tent. The matron glanced across the wounded and shook her head.
"In theory, yes. But I wouldn't advise it. Handled ineptly and many would die." She said. Though she didn't tell him, Lex knew exactly what she'd meant. In the Legion he had learned to never move an injured comrade, unless it was to drag them out of the line of fire. There was just too much that could go wrong and turn a serious wound into a fatal one.
"Then we'll have to take care of them here. Again I ask you, what do you need, madam?"



"More aid materials of course, but our real shortage is trained staff here." She told him when a man coughed and puked up crimson slime. The head healer immediately turned and shoved aside the novice who'd come look. She placed her hand over the man's chest, which Lex now saw, was caved in. The woman began the gestures of healing, panting and biting down on her lip as if she was in great pain and unable to scream. It took a long time but finally the injured man relaxed. The healer wiped her brow, gave instructions to the novice and came back to the Guard-captain. She told him about the loss of the Healer's hall in central Kvatch and how with it most of the experts, references and supplies had been lost. As she explained, only the ones who were out on late night visits to patients or bunked with family instead of in the dorms, had been lucky enough to escape.
"So what you are saying," Lex said, "is that they are not trained to handle these kind of injuries."
"Most of us are. First to third years aren't, so they get the lighter work. Simple fractures, nursing, assisting their seniors. It's a matter of scale. Smith literally killed himself trying to push out one more healing spell. Binds-the-Straw overdosed on magicka restoration potions, I didn't even know an Argonian could overdose on anything. The rest of us walk on the edge. We don't have enough people and don't have enough magicka."


There was little Lex could do to resolve her problem. He could always round up a few volunteers who knew a thing or two about healing, but they were unlikely to be more knowledgeable than even a first year student of the guild. And from what he understood, they needed masters, not novices.
"How about mercenaries? Aren't they skilled at treating battlefield injuries?" The man ventured after some time. Most mercenaries, at least the good ones, knew how to deal with the injuries they suffered in their line of work. While the ones that had joined the convoy weren't under any direct authority of either Stone-Breaker or himself, he was certain he could hire them with the promise of later compensation from the Cyrodiil guard. As a Guard-captain he did have the liberty to modify the budget as needed.


"Mercenaries treat wounds like they're nails with a big hammer. Just hold up your hand and pump magic into yourself till the flesh is kind of okay." The old healer scoffed and mimed the motion. "And in a few years you're hobbling around on knees that grew sideways and your heart feels like its dangling on a string. Mercenaries can't even heal themselves proper, nevermind others."


Lex gestured with a thumb at the Maormer.
"You did seem to allow one in your tent." He answered. She didn't seem to be unwelcome. Had she said who or rather what she was? It didn't seem likely to him. She had maintained a false identity when they last met and to be fair, he didn't think that saying one was a princess would be a good idea in this refugee camp. At best, they'd laugh her away for she didn't look like one, at worst she'd get mobbed for help.
"She's Stendarr's mercy," The old woman said, "sent by him in our time of need. I don't know where she came from and she's not guild but someone must have given her the optional course. Maybe one of the teachers had his own secret protégée, not that I care right now. All I care is that she knows how to fix people without magic. It doesn't get them on their feet, but they won't die and we'll have plenty of time to finagle out the details for a full recovery. No comment on the makeup though."




"Look, sir. If you want to help us, get those greedy bastards in the warehouses to open their damned doors. We can use the fresh clothes they store by the cratefuls to improvise bandaging. It wouldn't be the real deal but it beats the mud-raked filth we're all wearing right now. And food. No one's had a bite to eat since the escape. The patients need strength to heal and we need it to keep saving them. Get that for us, please. I beg you."


Lex nodded and saluted.
"I'm on it, madam. You have my word." He said and turned to his men.
"Come along, troops. We've got some law to enforce."

What a fascinating and intricate look into healing you took here, real worldbuilding in healing and in Kvatch - Loved this chapter! You are really bringing Kvatch's plight to life with your story, I am loving this! Awesome Write!

Nicely done Jack...

Lex is an excellent character and I'm loving the way you're writing him...His adoration for the elf is brilliantly done... ...



I loved that...Such a truism...*Applauds*...

So looking forward to how this continues...

Brilliant stuff...Loved it!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

So the powercable of my modem broke. It's one of those proprietary (is that the right word?) ones, so I had to get a specific replacement from the internet provider. Ok, took about a week for them to send the new one in the mail. Except the new cable had one of the prongs bent at a 45 degree angle. Great going guys, that's some real quality control. So much for the almighty bubblewrap. Ah well, at least I got a replacement for the replacement. Different amparage, but I'm too far gone to care.


In better news, we are almost ready to shut us some marble jaws! So let's hang out with Sorian, shall we?






Chapter 10.4


Kvatch main gates


Kvatch had been conquered by goblins. Of all things, crazed wood elves, Orcs remaking their land for the fifth time, high elves trying to conquer the world, goblins were the last thing I'd expected. The yellow savages had always been at war with everything that wasn't a part of their tribe. Whether that was Redguard or Imperial or other goblin-tribes, they were the enemy. They were vicious and evil creatures. Always trying to kill and pick clean anyone they perceived as weak. Although they still thought that the rock on a stick was novel weapon, so their threat was laughable usually. As part of the Skaven militia I'd aimed to keep their numbers low, patrolling the local hideouts. We did a good job, too. Most of the time.


One year we'd failed and the goblins had bred enough of their kin to think they could take Skaven. They didn't, but killed a lot of good people. We're Redguard. Everyone in Skaven, apart from the infants and the eldest, posessed a sword and the skill to use it. But even if one of us could slay five of the beasts, there were ten more charging across the dunes. The goblins almost won, but at the darkest moment a single swordsinger left their academy and drove them off. An Ansei, just one. The sword sliced the air in a typhoon of steel, graceful arcs that never stopped or slowed for even a moment. And never missed. It was a humbling thing to see and not just for the goblins.


She looked like my grandmother tending her garden, complete with unseeing eyes and a walking stick.


So I supposed they could murder small villages if left alone for too long. But a whole city was another thing. No goblin tribe could ever grow to the point where it would attack a fortified place like Kvatch. It would fracture long before then. And no tribe ever worked with another. So what had posessed these goblings to try and perhaps more important, what had helped them win? I didn't understand at all. This should be impossible.


Still, I figured the princess should see it. She'd wanted to know what was going on in Kvatch and shoving the dead goblin in her face would save a lot of questions and explaining. No one stopped me when I moved over to pick it up. There was a warning not to get too close to the gap in the wall but I wasn't going there so they soon stopped shouting. When the archers had used it for target practice, the thing had been thrown into the air and off the side of the mountain. Funny thing, that. I was no archer but it seemed odd that some arrows could toss it away like a ragdoll. Goblins were a lot bigger and heavier than they looked. If they'd ever stand up straight, the average specimen would come to my shoulder easily. I mimed an archer as I got close to the edge. It felt wrong. It was almost as if the ground had forgotten to pull it down the moment it breathed its last.


The goblin had fallen down and bounced from the rocks till it had come to a rest in a small fissure. I was careful climbing down to it. The stones were sharp and oftentimes loose beneath the feet. I didn't like the idea of being shredded like the goblin because of a simple misstep. But by proceeding slowly and inspecting each foot- or handhold before using it, I got there. Turned out the goblins of the Imperial province were different than the ones back home in Hammerfell.


First was the fact it was light as a feather, literally, which surprised me. No goblin I'd ever seen had been this light. Just the gusts of wind made it dance on the rock as if it was about to fly off again. It also definitely looked off now that I'd gotten close to it. I'd already seen on the way down that the skin was darker than the sandy white-yellow I was used to. But up close it turned out not to be skin at all, but a coarse fur. The fur darkened further from the legs down, who had that odd bend and clawed toes of the Argonian and Khajiit instead of the normal human-like foot. Oh, and it had a long rat-like tail. Anyway, I grabbed its tail with one hand and slung the critter over a shoulder. Then I made my way further down to the nearest bend of the path.



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I forced my way through the crowd in and around the tent. Carrying the bloody and tattered remains of a goblin made it easy. They scattered and a few even screamed or started crying. That wasn't my intention though. I wasn't trying to scare folks, just get by them. I hadn't thought they would actually go crazy on seeing the goblin. I should have known better. These people had just lost their whole city to the things after all.
"Sorian! You're upsetting people with that thing! Toss it out!" The princess, predictably, bit at me. She didn't even look up from whatever it was that she was doing. Neither did the fighter's guild man she'd hired.
"That thing," I replied in what I thought was an even tone. I'd get rid of the goblin, but first I'd give her the information she'd asked for. "That is what's burned down Kvatch. Some kind of goblin." It got the attention I'd sought.


Both looked up at me and spoke together.
"That's not a," Said Baurus but he cut himself off before he'd gotten very far. Maorlatta did finish her line. But I didn't like it at all.
"So they're called goblin? Funny, I was taught you use the same word here as on the islands. Daedra. Or is this a nickname?"


I looked at the creature whose tail I was holding. This little furred monster, a Daedra? The word conjured an image of massive inhuman beasts. All teeth, claws, oozing poison, a hundred eyes of all sizes and fire-shooting nostrils. Not something like this. It looked too....harmless. I wanted to say she was wrong, but Baurus had been about to say something similar and besides, this was princess Orgnum we were talking about. Elves were always trying to find some new way to raise the dead or open the gates to Oblivion and that was just the ones in the empire. She was some overstudied pampered royalty from off the edge of the maps. What if she knew things they didn't know in Tamriel and was actually right?
"Woah, back that horse up. You're saying this thing here is a Daedra?"



"Yes I did. To be specific it's a...ah," She said and stroked a bloody finger across her chin. It was hard not to stare at the big streak it left behind. How could someone who was so loudly against violence have no problem cutting people up in the name of healing? She continued, "I don't know what the Cyrodiilic word is. But loosely translated, it would be 'little dumb screecher'. Very descriptive. They're useful for small labour if kept under control, but make a mess the moment you slip the spell." She proceeded with a story on how one of her teachers had demonstrated the fury of a free Daedra and how she hated being the one who had to clean up and fix the lab afterwards. Meanwhile, she sewed up some guy's throat and moved to a woman lying on another crate. The princess' bodyguard took the chance to ask her a question.
"Lady, would you know why it is here?" He asked and she snapped at him while waving her hand.
"Baurus, I'm busy! Ask the summoner."


Baurus looked at me and I shrugged. Nobody had told me about a summoner. Actually, I couldn't remember any mention about an elf, only the monsters.
"I don't think there is one." I said.
"But there has to be." Maorlatta insisted. She was prodding the crying woman and laying out a pair of scissors. I had to look away before I got sick. Or sicker. "This one is dead and without conscious effort from either a summoner or the Daedra itself, it can't exist in Mundus. It should fade in seconds. Besides, the little dumb screecher is too weak to enforce its own being. It has to be the summoner." Her rambling slid away from the Daedra into a cool description of the woman's wounds. I shook my head and Baurus took me outside.


We hid the Scamp in a big bag. I figured we should just toss it away, but the fighter thought that Maorlatta might want to investigate it some more later. She did seem to know a thing or two about summoning and would love to get her hands on something irregular like a Scamp that didn't fade. We then went back to the entrance of the tent but stayed in a corner. I'd learned by now that Baurus was practically obsessed with watching over his charge so I didn't object even though I'd rather gone for some fresh air. But I didn't want to go alone. There were Daedra out there!
"Kid, exactly how many Daedra are we dealing with here? Are they all Scamps?" The Redguard whispered to me after a while.
"Not sure. Lex and the other guy asked one of the locals. He didn't count them, but there were definitely a lot. Scamps, Argonians and something he described as living torches." I repeated to him what I'd heard about the attack. How the Daedra came out of nowhere from inside the city and how the guards had sealed the gates before rapelling down the wall to safety. I also said that the gobli- Scamp had come out of a small door in the outer wall. It looked like the Daedra were trapped inside, but I felt a lot more secure when I still thought Kvatch had been raided by a goblin-alliance.


"You think the lizards are up to something?" I asked eventually.
"Let's not start throwing accusations right away. Most summoners have enough trouble handling one Daedra, and two if they push themselves. Daedra are tough too, trust me on that. But to take a city you need numbers. Big numbers." He said and shook his head. "You might just be right on there not being one in the first place."



"What do we do?"
"Nothing. I aim to guard the lady. Everything else is secondary. What you do, is your own choice. But take my advice. Don't try to be a hero."

Sorry I'm late...Again...Just trying to get the work-around thing working... ...

Aaamywho...Excellently done chapter...Loved the talk of all the goblins and such...Muchly well done there!!!...

Looking forward to much more of this... ...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

I'm running with the assumption that Daedra are rare in central Cyrodiil (or Hammerfell I suppose) and that people instead draw comparisons with what they do know. Hence the whole wingless imps/goblin thing.


In other news, I'm going to lose internet again while the whole building gets renovated. The current estimate till it gets restored is a few weeks but I'm hoping it will be shaved down a bit. So till then, have this short bit. In the next update (which at my usual glacial pace will be next year.) I plan to drop a bomb or two and light a fire under some behinds. Metaphorically.




Chapter 10.5


Lower Kvatch


Lex took his time to approach the wooden structure that used to be the combined barracks and warehouse. Behind him his troops sauntered at ease but he raised a finger and quietly asked for a professional march. The men did so and matched his pace. They even all did their best to put on a grim and aggressive visage. Lex had to suppress a grin. The soldiers Stone-Breaker had given him were good. Good enough to know what he wanted without having to spell it out.


There were two mercenaries standing guard, though a lock would have done a better job. The thugs, for mercenary was too good a word in Lex's eye, were dressed in only the most provisoric of armour and armed with a simple club. It was enough to ward off the few beggers, but didn't stop those with less direct means of obtaining food. Such as the Bosmeri woman who calmly came out a backdoor while dragging a bulging sack over the floor. She passed a hand in it when she walked by a family of two. A wrapped package was dropped into their laps and she continued at the same pace. Lex let it slide. Was stealing from thieves really stealing? Lex thought it was but at the moment he was far more interested in hooking the larger fish. Besides, though he didn't give any stock to the steal-from-the-rich-and-give-to-the-poor stories that surrounded the Grey Fox, he didn't object to the idea on moral grounds.


The crooks waved their clubs threateningly when approached but the weapons dropped when they realized that Lex wasn't the only one making his way through the crowd. It was a simple matter of numbers. Outnumbered six to one by men who were all better armed than they were, they would have to be either monumental heroes or idiots to provocate the soldiers. Chain instead of patched leather, short swords and spears instead of a firehardened stick. The men felt that it would be better if he sought someone else to take the heat.


In this case that someone else was one of the merchants who maintained the monopoly Lex intended to break. The man came out looking most displeased at the interuption of whatever he'd been doing but like the guards posted outside he soon sobered up when he realized that he wasn't dealing with a rabble of hungry refugees. Lex told the man what he wanted in a straightforward manner. The release of the food and any other items that were needed by the refugees. Of course the merchant protested and claimed they were the ones who prevented all-out chaos and hoarding by the strong. Lex countered by stating that he didn't see much of a difference between the hypothetical hoarding of gangs and the real hoarding of the merchant and his colleagues. The back and forth repeated itself a few times until the spokesman for the merchants dipped into a different tactic. Bribery.



"Look, you only arrived this morning. Surely you are an entrepreneurial spirit. So let me tell you something that would peak your interest, sir....?" He said with his best smile. In contrast Lex's face was carefully kept devoid of any expression though inside the guard-captain was practically cheering.
"Try it. If you have the guts." He thought.
"Hieronymous Lex." He said and the merchant, who was a Redguard, paled so far one would be forgiven for thinking he was a Nord instead.
"Who is it?" Someone called from within the building and the spokesman yelled back a single word.
"Lex!" The silence that followed brought a smile to Hieronymous' lips.


He clapped the stricken man on the shoulder. It was a friendly gesture but he might as well have put his sword at his throat.
"I believe you were going to tell me something?" Lex asked and his smile grew.
"It ah, just slipped my mind." The merchantman stammered. "I'm sorry. I can't remember what it was."
"That is just too bad." Lex began. He felt not a shred of pity or mercy for those who would take advantage of a disaster in the name of profit. He felt even less compassion for those who had moved to capitalize so fast it had to be second nature. He continued on while leaning in close to the man's face. The false friendliness was gone, replaced with the commanding tone Lex normally used to adress his guards at the morning brief.
" Let me tell you something instead then, mister. You are going to the healers. You personally, not an employee. You will ask the head healer in detail what she needs and you will provide it immediately. Also you will coördinate with Savlian Mathius of the Kvatch guard in feeding everyone. Meanwhile, these two troopers here will go inside and receive a full inventory on what you have stored away. They will be allowed to check each item with their own eyes. Any obstruction will be seen as a criminal act and punished through the full extent of Imperial law. Am I understood?"


The two soldiers he'd appointed saluted and shouldered their way passed the Redguard into the building where they loudly repeated the instructions they'd just received, as if they were daring anyone inside to take offense. The silence inside the building continued, proving to Lex that there wasn't going to be a problem. That he actually regretted slightly. He would have enjoyed to string them all up and have them carted off to a prison at the earliest opportunity. But he had his priorities and as long as they followed his commands to the letter from here on out, he couldn't accuse them of a crime.


The only one who did protest was the one he'd been speaking to, and even that was only a weak complaint about how his goods had been bought at a high price and how the Redguard couldn't just give it away without financial ruin.
"Am I supposed to consider your prosperity more important than theirs?" Lex thought.
"If you have any objections of a financial nature, keep them. I am certain that the Imperial Customs Department will reimburse you for any monetary loss you receive while saving lives."



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For the rest of the day Lex busied himself with handling all the little conflicts that arose. Who had stolen from who, who had refused to share, who had said a foul word or pushed the wrong person in the rush to escape. All the little things he hated to do, but which no one else could. That evening Ulberth Stone-Breaker descended into the camp and after deliberating with Mathius, Lex and the healers, he had the messengers sent to Skingrad.
"Tomorrow we will see some real aid in this place. And we'll lay siege to Kvatch. No one gets in or out." He said.





"You're going to throw away the key and pretend it never happened. That sure worked out great last time."

Brilliant!!...

...

Loved the way Lex dealt with the merchant... ...Lets hope the rest of his time there goes as smoothly...

Yeah...As if... ...

Nicely done...

*Applauds heartily*..

Whew, internet is back. I've got a lot of catching up to do. Well, more than usually.

I like the idea that Lex has a reputation as that one incorruptible guy you can't intimidate, you can't blackmail and who takes bribes as a personal insult.

For now we move back to Latta because she hasn't had a chance to say her thing in a while. And there will be a random rant at the end.





Chapter 10.6


I scarcely noticed the passing of the time. When the sun set, I'd merely called out for light without being aware of just why it had become too dark to work. If it wasn't for the Redguards, who forced me to eat, rest, and dragged me over to observe the Skingrad commander's council, I'd probably still be wandering the tent like some mindless insect. And speaking of eating, I'd had Sorian put everything in my mouth like a toddler. He asked me to say 'ah' and I almost slapped him. Almost. It was embarassing enough already, especially in public, but I couldn't even stand the thought of touching anything after having spent most of the day digging in people's guts. Who knew what and how many taints I'd wedged under my fingernails at the moment.


It had always been sort of a flaw of mine. While I was working, it didn't faze me. But now my teeth and nails itched and I was overcome with a desperate desire to bathe and scrub that made it hard to focus on anything else. Perfumed oils, a glass of extract, the enchanted music cube and of course a skilful massage. I enjoyed the fantasy to take my mind off this place. Off the wounded stuck in the filthy tent, the missing children and the unnatural storm that continued to brew above the stronghold. It was a shame my bubble had to be popped so quick.


"You're going to throw away the key and pretend it never happened. That sure worked out great last time."




I didn't see who had so rudely interupted, but it got everyone talking at the same time. The Kvatch and Skingrad leadership had sat themselves down on crates while a small crowd had formed around them. Sorian, Baurus and I stood away a short distance from the group so all I saw were the backs of people. Anyhow, the comments ranged from critiscism to doomsaying to suggestions that themselves ranged from the reasonable to the outlandish. A big green, something, wanted to know when a real man was going to take charge and actually do something. Another fellow right in front of me screeched about end-times and prophecies and how the world was going to end in three days. Off to the side an amberskinned elf was holding her child, while saying how it was all 'his' fault and that she shouldn't have let 'him' steal 'it'. And those were all 'sane' people, though the prophecy-man made me wonder. There was one gray-skinned elf who talked about a brass statue he'd seen in Mourndom as if it could solve their problems. I didn't see how a statue was going to help. Was it supposed to blind the Daedra by being very well-polished? Or perhaps it was supposed to summon a Daedric prince. From what Sorian had told me, we were dealing with at least hundreds of Daedra of various forms. And not just the lowly ones like screechers, but also the bigger elementals and destroyers. The latter were hard to summon, harder to keep in Mundus and especially hard to control. And that was when dealing with just a single Daedra. For hundreds to be summoned to the same place at the same time could only be accomplished in three ways. By gathering hundreds of top-level summoners or by entering into a very costly contract with a prince. The third involved an artifact I'd learned off in my studies, but it had been stolen by an eastern Altmer back in the First Era and never been seen again.
"Someone must have made a contract, it's the only thing that makes sense. But summoning one Daedric army to stop another isn't the answer. That's like curing air-dead water by adding poison."


The arguments began to detoriate into an unruly mob. People began jostling and Stone-Breaker's call for order went unheard. I could feel someone put a hand on my shoulder to gently drag me out of the conflict area. Probably Baurus. He had the right idea, of course. No one would be helped if I got injured in a riot. But I'd begun to think now. Something was up with this Daedric horde. Something that made the usual answers not match up. I shook off Baurus' hand and stepped back forward and then paused. How should I proceed?


"First of all, get people's attention." I reasoned and opened my mouth to add my own voice to the choir. But I didn't even need to say a word to realize that just shouting 'shut up!' wasn't going to change a thing. Everyone was yelling now and deaf to their own words. I had to stop the current chain before the Skingrad officer arrived at the point where he would enforce order by the blade.
"How would grandfather do this?" I thought to myself and to my regret I had not even a clue. I held the king in high regard, but we hadn't met often and most of the time it was in a formal setting surrounded by my elders which made any attempt at actual conversing with the immortal impossible. Also, there were no riots at his palace.


Stone-Breaker raised his hand to his troops and I knew there was no time left to contemplate the right course of action. I would have to trust my instincts and upbringing. I made another step forward to the center of the mob and raised my own hands. I bent them slightly at the fingers and humned the song of heavy afternoons. Crackling wips of lightning darted between my fingers. I clapped, breaking the air trapped within my hands. The resulting CLAP!!! deafened all around and stunned them into silence. I repeated the act, step... CLAP!!!...step...CLAP!!! till I'd got where I wanted to be. Right in front of the Skingrad commander. I nodded to him, as if I was granting him permission to stand down, and then without giving the man the chance to respond I jumped on top of a crate to adress the crowd.


"Everyone, listen up!" I began, but then my lack of confidence in myself got hold of me.
"Damn it, Latta. You are an Orgnum, bred to rule! Taking charge should be in your blood. Besides, if you bite your tongue now, you'll emberass your House. Just improvise." I told myself furiously. I moved on to introduce myself, and steal a few more seconds to think.
"I am Org...Maorlatta Orgnum, empowered by the Lord Emperor Septim the Seventh, ruler of Tamriel, to speak in his name." Mentioning Pyandonea would have been a bad idea. Apart from nobody having heard of the place if Sorian was anything to go by, I needed legitimate authority here. House Orgnum was legitimate, back home, House Septim was in charge here. I could also really do with a bath and a nice dress instead of the bloodsplattered travelling leathers, but damn it, I didn't need any of that. If grandfather could rally demoralized people on a battlefield while he was bleeding out from a dozen mortal wounds, then so could I.
"You will not talk unless given leave to do so by me. Anyone who needlessly interupts will leave. Anyone who uses his or her chance to speak for meaningless drivel will leave."


So far I'd sailed on shock and not giving anyone the opportunity to digest my words rationally. But now Stone-Breaker seemed like he'd gotten over the initial surprise. He was chewing his lip and looked like he was going to drag me down from the makeshift stage. That would be bad to say the least. Thoughts on how to stop him flitted through my mind. Set Baurus upon him? The Redguard would probably do so on his own if the Skingrad giant tried anything, but having a man in uniform gutted would result in absolute chaos. And every soldier out there aiming for our throats. I should tell him to stay put. But how? I could say anything I liked, but I didn't actually have proof I was who I claimed to be.
"Maybe I should reveal my heritage anyway. I don't look like any elf-line they know." I thought. Stone-Breaker nodded to himself and I felt Baurus shift behind me.


Just when I thought it was too late to defuse the situation, the man next to Stone-Breaker, smaller and unarmored but still wearing an uniform of some sorts, simply took the Nord's arm and shook his head. I didn't know who he was or how he'd done it, but Stone-Breaker stood down again. I pushed it all from my mind however as I continued to play the crowd. I set down a few more rules, while also dropping references to Uriel Septim and court laws at various points. I allowed a few to say their thing and fished for a few more eyewitness acounts so I could get a better idea of what was going on. Daedra did sack the city, large numbers of them. But there was something else that Sorian hadn't mentioned. Some claimed that the buildings of Kvatch itself had faded and been replaced with something else. It sounded impossible but I only had to look up at the storm brewing to remind myself that the impossible no longer applied here.



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All this had only been a prelude however. What I really had been after from the beginning was the confession of the amber mer. She had to be a Bosmer, black eyes and twirling hair that was too dark to be of Altmeri stock, not to mention lacking in height. Supposedly I looked like one which was part of the reason why I'd been chosen for the diplomatic mission, but I failed to see any resemblence. That however, wasn't too important right now. I asked her for her name.


"Rajn Geydar." I recognized the name instantly. That was one of the two people the emperor had wanted me to collect from Kvatch. But it couldn't be this woman. The Rajn Geydar on the note had only been 57 years old and the one standing in front of me was definitely much older. I shot a glance at the little girle beside her. Perhaps the name Rajn was passed on from mother to daughter. But where Rajn the elder was too old, the child was too young. Perhaps she had an older sibling.
"Who I notice, is not here. Auri-El protect her."


I asked her to repeat what she'd said to herself when the crowd threatened to riot and though it took some coaxing, I got a coherent story out of here. Apparantly she and a 'Arie', probably her husband, had come into the posession of an artefact that possibly could tear the barriers between Mundus and Oblivion. For years she had it mounted over the door because she liked how it sparkled. But just the day before an Altmer had apparantly recognized the object for what it was and flown into a rage. Later that night, the Daedra arrived and when she took Baleni, which was the name of the little girl, she noticed that the artifact had been stolen. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together. The Altmer had taken the object and used it to call out the Daedra.
"Balac-Thurm." I thought. "Did this Bosmer ever realize the meaning of her treasure, the value? Auri-El bound Mundus into the present with it! And she used it as a glorified flagpost!" I could see what had made that Altmer so upset. Then of course he'd taken it and used it for evil, but what else would one expect from an Altmer who had come face to face with the tool of a god?


"Where did you even get the Balac-Thurm in the first place?" I found myself asking in a lapse of judgement. The Bosmer laughed at me as a result.
"Oh, sweetie, that's a long long story and it's time for Baleni to go to bed. Let's just say it is something the big man with the crown gave to mommy and daddy because we saved the world for him. And we beat up someone who was very bad and not nice to children and emperors. Shouldn't forget that bit. What was his name again? Oh right, Tharnie the Terrible. But that's a secret, Baleni. You're not supposed to tell people. Got it?" Somehow, everyone went quiet. Quieter I mean, after removing a few troublemakers no one was speaking unless instructed to first. I felt that this joking answer had some sort of meaning for the people of Tamriel. But I'd never heard of a warlord known as Tharnie the Terrible, nor could I see why his defeat was so important that she would have been rewarded with Auri-El's sacred spear of all things.
"I should ask Sorian and Baurus about this later. But I know one thing now. We need to get the Balac-Thurm back. Or else Kvatch will only be the beginning."






RANT-TIME

Ok, this part was kinda hard. What happens here is that the protagonists find out what occurred at Kvatch. Figuring out how to stop it comes later though, and I'm thinking of doing that off-screen now because today's update already hit the 2000 word mark.

Now to do this I first have to admit I imposed a limit upon myself. As mentioned before I chose not to place an Oblivion gate, and in this part we learn why I suppose. Anyhow, this had the result that I couldn't have anyone reason that the best way to stop the Daedra was to run through the portal and then hope they saw something to undo it.

Without the gate, I needed someone knowledgeable enough to exposit about it in enough detail to convince everyone else. (Though I skipped over the exposition) Now in the story I've so far brought up four people who could conceivably know.



First of all is Mankar Camoran. With the world-piece he can pop up at Kvatch and hold a speech. (or he can just teleport, no reason why he would obey the law while trying to overthrow the symbol of said law.) But he wouldn't have anything to gain from it and I try to stay away from villains who monologue about every detail of his masterplan to the hero.


Second would be Uriel Septim, who fell off for obvious reasons. That leaves us with the two best candidates. Angoril Bobardi and Rajn Geydar.

Angoril knows of course, seeing how he threw a bit fit over the whole thing before Kvatch got Daedra'd. And originally I had him take the role Latta ended up taking, only a bit more direct. I even thought about having him finally make a real reveal over who he is, but in the end I figured that he would rather not do so unless absolutely needed. And since Latta did the job for him, why should he draw attention to himself?

Rajn Geydar originates as Rajn Treesap in another unfinished story of mine which basically tells the tale of the simulacra. To keep things simple, she knows exactly as much as Angoril does for the same reasons. And since she doesn't share his compulsive mystery-man act, I picked her as the one to tell people.

Fair dues Jack...Nicely done!...

I do like Latta, because she's excellent...Veering from spoil princess "Respect my authoratar!!" to this chapter where she has to act like proper nobility should...Brilliantly done...

Proper brilliant writing there...

Worrying development that they all think Angoril did it... ...

Love this story...

Brilliant stuff!!....

Nice one!!...

*applauds heartily*...

Ooooh, edit nit...

Chapter 10.4

I am sorry it has taken so long to get back, darn it I've gotten behind again!

I'm curious as to the nature of this goblin-like being! GAAAAH! I wish Baurus had finished his sentence, I still don't know what it is! Lol.

Oh, a scamp! ROFL !!! I love when you do this, show that these things are strange to the people of Cyrodiil! Awesome Write!


Coming back to catch up, and sorry for the delay!

Chapter 10.5:

This was a great look into the aftermath of any disaster, the looting and high tensions left behind and the law scrambling to keep up and restore order - really nice detail to add, and very well done!

Chapter 10.6

Loved Latta's moments of being unsure of herself in addressing the unruly crowds here, she is such an endearing character!



This is what I have waited so long for! But no, Latta; the Altmer didn't do this! GAAAAH! This chapter was long awaited!!!!

AWESOME WRITE !!!

Woops, I'll have to fix the errors.

But yeah, racism leads to hasty conclusions.


Okay, this update ended up being longer than the usual at ~2400-2500 words. It also is more procrastinating when I think about it but hey, I had fun writing it. And because we keep hopping between viewpoints without changing location, I mentioned the viewpoint character at the start.



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Chapter 10.7, Sorian


We never learned more from the Scamp. By the time we dragged the princess away from the injured so she wouldn't keel over on her feet, the mongrel was gone. Baurus checked for tracks, but the bag we put it in hadn't been opened or moved. It was just gone, poof, went up in smoke. Maorlatta told me this was the natural order of things with Daedra but also mentioned again that it should have faded into Oblivion long before I'd gotten down the mountain with it. Creepy, if you ask me.


Not that I got much time to mulch over the freaky nature of Daedra. I thought I could while hanging at the back of the big meeting but no,the pointy-ear just had to go and put herself in the center of the stage and be her bossy self. And she was the one who had been so set on staying 'discreet'. I swear, I just couldn't keep up with her. So much for elves being slow to act. The only good news was that it got us a room in one of the few solid buildings here. There was no actual bed, but it definitely beat sleeping in the mud under the open sky.


It had other perks as well. Such as the seclusion we needed to do our thing. The princess and her new, better, bodyguard had come up with the idea of everybody teaching everybody. Baurus would teach me how to fight like a jerk while Maorlatta stomped whatever she fancied into my head. I actually kinda liked Baurus' lessons. Sure, the guy was somehow even more serious than the elf which really got on my nerves, but he knew his craft. And his stories on the differences between all kinds of swords and what it meant in battle was interesting. The princesses'...I didn't give much for her things. She had the habit to just start rambling and what use did I have for anything she taught? Healing? In her own words it had taken decades for her to learn how to cut people open without hitting anything important. I would be old before we were finished. Alchemy? I didn't know any of the terms she used! Magic? She was no archmage and while throwing fireballs sounded awesome, she refused to talk about those spells. Letters? Ok, I supposed that could be handy for reading maps and signs. But on the whole, I'd rather stick with Baurus' sword-lessons.


Of course, there wasn't much I could teach them in return. I was just a militia-man turned adventurer. Everything I knew Baurus knew better, apart from the occasional story. So in the end I soaked their wisdom like a sponge, spilled half of it when the princess ran out of words and used elvish ones, and did some chores on the side. One of those chores was that I got to wash and paint her face. Like Baurus, it was one of the things she'd picked up after being kidnapped by the Blades. In this case, someone had given her a 'woman's secret weapon', also known as a box full of powders, brushes, and paints. She never told me much about who this 'Jennifer' was, but I figured she was a Blade. That was the only thing that made sense. Just like how Baurus was probably a Blade, though he claimed to be fighter's guild. I mean, where would she hire him? Skyrim? She couldn't have made it that far by the time Grey-Tongue and I caught up with her!


Anyway, every night I helped her clean herself and every morning I was in charge of fixing her face so her own magical facepaint didn't show. That was harder than it looked really as her skin needed to be completely covered but if I put it on too thick the whole mess just flaked off again. Tonight it was even harder than usual because she'd spent the whole day getting other people's blood all over her. Luckily I found a crate filled with pieces of soap. While I was busy rinsing, we talked. For the most part we avoided actually important subjects like the crazy storm outside but at one point the princess decided to switch to something that mattered.

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"So, Sorian. I've been wondering. Who is this warlord called 'Tharnie'? And why did everyone involved start proverbially licking the Bosmer's toes when she said she'd defeated him? Is this some important war of yours?" She asked me. It floored me for a moment. How could she not know? The Imperial Simulacrum was the biggest thing to happen since Tiber Septim became a Divine! But I supposed she wouldn't know that either. For all that she acted like she was smarter than me, the elf really was clueless about things everyone knew. I supposed I couldn't really blame her for that one. She'd told me about Pyandonea and it sounded like a literal backwater, hidden behind reefs and constant fog. What most got me was how she said that most people didn't even know the word 'foreigner' there.


So I told her about the Simulacrum. I told her about the evil wizard Jagar Tharn, who had banished the Emperor to Oblivion and taken his place on the throne. How he'd changed his own face to match Uriel's so no one would figure it out. I told her about the Eternal Champion and when she asked, explained that noone knew exactly who or what the Eternal Champion was. I told her he was probably an Ansei but Baurus laughed at that. Anyhow, I said to her the story of the Eternal Champion. How he was imprisoned by Jagar Tharn in the catacombs deep beneath the palace. How he escaped from beneath the foul wretch's nose. I told her about the Staff of Chaos, a magical weapon and the only thing Tharn feared. How the impostor had broken the staff into pieces and hid it all over Tamriel. I told the tale of the Eternal Champion, who had journeyed the land and braved the pits and tombs where the pieces of the staff lay hidden. Tharn's minions were always on his heel, Daedra and worse monsters, but the Champion cut them down by the hundreds with sword and spell. Nothing could stop him from remaking the Staff of Chaos. Finally, with the completed and rejuvenated staff in hand, the Champion returned to the palace. There the wizard and hero battled, their powers blowing the top off White-Gold tower. Finally the Staff of Chaos destroyed Jagar Tharn and the Eternal Champion, though mortally wounded in his duel, next walked into Oblivion to free the true Emperor.


I didn't actually get to finish the story. She'd been frowning from the beginning and by the time I got to the final battle she started babbling in elvish and crying. Then a rainbow washed over her face and hands and she openly began bawling like a baby.

"Hey! Hey! What's wrong now? Is it something I said?" I shouted at her. I looked around worriedly, for the walls in this place were thin and cheap. Baurus dissappeared out of the room, maybe to throw everyone else out of the building before they found out that their new leader had lost it. I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her in an attempt to make her stop but she slapped my hands away.
"No, it's not you. It's just that I'm never going to get home! And I never even wanted to leave in the first place!"


Her words began to flow out as if a dam had broken. There was nothing I could do to make her shut up but listen and hope that Baurus had indeed forced everyone else out of earshot.
"I had to, it was my duty! And I wanted to matter! My estate is a decrepit watchtower guarding against a continent that no longer exists, all my titles are shared with two dozen cousins, uncles and aunts who have a stronger claim on every single one of them and my only purpose is to preserve an unimportant bloodline! I'm the expendable Maormer who is just Orgnum enough to look good as a diplomatic envoy but not Orgnum enough to be missed! Oh sure, the adoption raised my status, but who is going to remember that when grandfather goes on an expedition? Nobody!" I was ashamed to admit this to myself, but though I was worried about what had caused this sudden outburst, I couldn't help but listen with rapt attention. This was different than the usual glorytales she bored me with. This was the real Pyandonea she now cried about and I knew that I was never going to get another chance such as this to learn about her secrets.


"So I get here and the first thing those rotten falseblooded poopeaters do is turn around and go home! Then I get tossed in a prison, almost eaten, shot, eaten again, bound into serving some old lying king because I am too nice for my own good, dragged into a warzone which turns out to be the end of the world and now you tell me that the only man who can deliver me home got his face melted off!"


With that she snapped shut. I wondered why Tharn of all people would know the way into Pyandonea, when she didn't know herself. But I didn't ask her. She wouldn't tell me anyway.


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Instead I tried to divert her attention away from her heartbreak.
"Let's talk about something else. What is this balad drum? I sure never heard of it." I said, grasping at the first thing that came to mind, namely the whole mess with the Wood Elf from earlier. It wasn't the best idea, given how the Wood Elf had led to Tharn and Tharn had led to well, no need to explain that one.

"Balac-Thurm." She corrected me automatically as she wiped the tears from her eyes. I scrounged the office for a handkerchief and gave it to her.
"Thanks. It's the spear of Auri-El, which bound Mundus into...straight....regular...conventional...it was used to make the world we live in." Maorlatta explained but like most times when she tried to tell me something difficult, she ran out of words. Luckily the dumbed down version was something I could understand for a change. Important artefact of the Divines, got it. But there was one thing that she got wrong.
"I'm pretty sure the wood elf called it a ball, not a spear." I told her and to my surprise, the corners of her mouth went up in a half-smile.
"It's from the Merethic era, Sorian. Details on that period are fuzzy at the best of times. Spear, sphere, it's the effect that's important, not what it looks like. Besides, Aedric and Daedric artefacts tend to change shape when nobody's looking. It gives the chroniclers a fit, believe me."


The princess had gotten her humor back, that was good at least. She loudly blew her nose with the kerchief, then folded it and laid it on the armrest of her seat with badly hidden disgust.
"Right, so it is something that made Tamriel and we don't really know what it looks like but it is probably a crystal ball of sorts. So, what is the link between the Balac and these Daedra?" I asked her then. "Seems like an odd coincidence to appear at the same time and place." She didn't answer, but blinked and let a flush of colour wash over her face.
"It seemed to have your sandals all twisted." I explained with a shrug. She had almost gotten as upset over the treehugger's tale as mine. Not to the point of screaming and crying her head off, but enough that I was glad I'd painted her face right.


After a moment the princess clapped her hands and nodded to herself. Then she gave me an explanation. A confusing one.
"How to explain? Daedra can't come here on their own strength. They're from outside and don't belong. Hmm, imagine our world as a big mansion. Now we have a thief who wants to enter the mansion but the master of the estate locked all the doors. What would the thief do?"
"Pick the lock, obviously." I said.
"Argh, no you idiot. He...probably would." She coloured some more and was quiet for a bit.


"Let me try again."


"Imagine the world as a big mansion. All the doors are locked, the servants never leave and the master does not freely hand out keys. There is a vaguely defined person of hostile intent. We'll call him the outsider. The walls are thick and strong, spellspun glass. The outsider can't break them down. There are three ways he can gain entry. First is by going to the backdoor. There are servants not loyal to the master. One of them could open the parcel-hatch which lets the outsider slip in a basket full of rabid rats. The master and the loyal servants will notice of course and remove the rats before they can do much harm. The rats are minor Daedra such as the screechers and the unloyal servant is a summoner.

The second involves the unloyal servant again. This time the unloyal servant will steal one of the master's keys by killing one of the loyal ones and taking his. The key is then passed on to the outsider who will use it to have a hired thug enter the mansion. The thug can do more damage than the rats, but afterwards the master will change all the keys so it only works once. And the unloyal servant is usually the first on the thug's kill-list. I'm talking about making a pact with a Daedric prince now which involves acts of evil and sacrifice. It could be what happened at Kvatch. But I doubt it."


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I thought I understood the important part. Summoning Daedra was hard because the world....didn't like it?
"And what's the third?" I asked. She had quieted down before telling me about that. Did she run out of words again?


I noticed that Baurus had returned. He stood in the dooropening and gave a silent question. The princess nodded to him and he closed the door to sit down with us. I could see he was relieved I'd managed to calm the elf down. Maorlatta waited till he was seated before she continued.
"Balac-Thurm. The master key." She said. "Look here. If you have the master key, the master no longer matters because you are the master now."


It was Baurus who asked the question that had been at the tip of my own tongue.
"You're saying it makes you a god?"
"No, but close enough."




OOC: The Uesp and such say that the Staff of Chaos was created by an enchanter in the first era. I'd already come up with my own theory for the staff before I learned that however. And since the story is pretty much based on my theory, I decided not to fix that. Besides, power-wise it is more on par with the various Daedric/Aedric artefacts than the random enchanted clutter you buy in a store.

And yes, odds are pretty good that I'll explain at some point what the connection between Tharn and Pyandonea are. Mind you, I've already dropped a hint here and there.

Loved this!!...

That was all fantastically done...I do love me Baurus...He's one that's not given enough to do in Oblivion...

Brilliant writing...Always loves me Cloudy writing... ...

Nice one Jacky-boy...

*Applauds most heartily*...

It has been how long? Agh, several excuses and none of them hold any water.

Anyhow, I still don't know how I want to do Kvatch. So I figured I'd just bite the bullet and throw everyone towards the climax. The current update is also a long one because I figured that hey, both parts separately were rather short and I really want to get this done and over with.

First bit is Camorans, the second is Sorian. (Maorlatta is supposed to be the main character of her crew, but she's gonna hide in a tent while Sorian and co get to go to the scenic spots.) Anyhow, without further ado.



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Chapter 10.8 Mythic Dawn hideout


"Come to my temple and I shall judge your worth." Dagon's voice echoed through the underground shrine, making the bones of the listeners tremble. There were but two present at the moment. Mankar Camoran and his son, Raven.
"This affects us all, Lord Dagon. If we are to serve you we must be allowed to act now, not waste time with a challenge whose outcome is already set." The elder of the two Altmer, his arms raised, said to the monstrous statue. Again the Daedric Lord's voice shook the chamber.
"One boon, one Trial. Those are the rules, Camoran."


The ceremony to summon the Daedric Prince of destruction had taken hours. Hours of casting spells, chanting prayers and bloody sacrifice. In contrast, their actual negotiations had only taken a few minutes. A few minutes of explanation followed by a clear answer. No. It angered Raven that after all their efforts the Daedra wouldn't even give them the light of day. But there was nothing to do about it. When a Daedra said no, it was final. Especially with one as fickle and enamored with random murder as Mehrunes Dagon.


Mankar lowered his arms and turned away.
"So be it. One of my chosing shall come shortly and face the trial you have prepared." He said and motioned to Raven to follow him as the Mythic Dawn's prophet returned to the safety of Raven's office. There the mer sat down in the chair and placed the milk-coloured coffer on the desk before him.
"For the personifications of change, Daedra are infuriatingly inflexible about their rules." Raven grumbled as soon as he'd closed the door and checked the protective wards that kept anyone from eavesdropping. His father simply shrugged.
"A nuisance, but not outside our expectations. I can trust my Hand to see to this simple test?" He replied.


Raven shot the Altmer a sharp glance. Was that mockery he heard in his words? No, it couldn't be. But the failure still weighed heavily on Raven's mind and he found it hard to think about anything else.
"A test from Dagon. It will involve destruction. And killing. In great measures." He told himself and set himself to think about what was required for the Daedra's trial. Weapons and armor foremost. While he, like his father and sister, considered such to be the tools of lesser people, he was not above using a blade if he had to. Or hide behind a shield.


But where was he going to get any of it? They'd once had enough to outfit an army. Real weapons and real armour that had carefully been gathered over the decades, not the magical duplications that could fade at the most inoportune moment. But what wasn't still with their strike teams scattered across the province had been lost at the capital. When Harrow goaded the fools into the undercity where they drowned.
"Harrow has a sword. That ebony blade from Vvardenfell." Raven remembered and a cruel smile tugged at his lips. The traitorous Dunmer didn't deserve such a fine weapon. But one sword was only the beginning.
"I need arms and armour, father. Of high quality."



If there was anyone who knew the price of quality, whether it came in the form of a sharp blade or a well-placed bribe, it was Mankar Camoran. He didn't argue though, not this time. His hands lifted the lid of the box in front of him. He then took out a single coin and flicked it through the air at his son.
"We now possess literally limitless funds. Buy what you must but be quick about it." He said and picked up a second coin which he turned over in his hand.
"We could play the long game. Go underground and wait for a better time." Mankar murmured softly. The words however, struck Raven like a hammer.
"You wish to throw away what we have and lay low?!"


Still looking at the coin, Mankar chuckled and replied, "Is that impatience I hear?"
"It is not." Raven bristled at the accusation. "I can wait however long we need. From days to centuries. But after all the effort we put into the Dawn, it would be a waste to just throw it all away without expending it to the utmost. Besides, right now we have Uriel Septim bottled up. If we vanish, he can come out and appoint an heir. He could singlehandedly prevent everything we've planned."


It wasn't as easy as his words might suggest. While the Mythic Dawn had failed to kill the emperor himself, the assassination of his children had been an overwelming success. As it stood, the Septim dynasty was poised to end with the death of the current emperor. That was something which wasn't far off even without the Camoran's plot on his life. Uriel Septim had been on and off his deathbed for years now. Come every winter, all the physicians would declare, with the appropriate sorrow and graveness, that the emperor of Tamriel would almost certainly pass away into the embrace of the Divines this year. And come every spring, the old man had shattered their predictions. But how long would his luck and near inhuman will to live continue? Not long according to both Camorans. Especially now that Uriel had been driven from the comforts of his palace in temperate Cyrodiil, to the belly of a gletsjer where Northern Skyrim would seem like a blazing oven.


When he passed, there would be no one to take the throne and Uriel would be hard-pressed to find someone who could take his place to everyone's satisfaction. Oh, there were plenty of claimants, ranging from side-branches of the Septim line to venerable council members such as Ocato to every warlord and wanabe noble with ambition. They would all stake their claim on the various rights of blood and merit. And when diplomacy failed, let their armies do the talking. Before long all of Tamriel would be plunged into an endless war that would shatter everything the empire meant. When the enemies ran out of uniformed men to throw into the grinder, they would turn to any man or woman old enough to hold a weapon. Entire provinces would be depopulated, their rulers lying as carrion for crows in the same fields as the peasants. There would be no time or hands for agriculture, commerce and all the other things that bound Tamriel together. A dark era would follow, an era of warlords clinging to their ruined castles and whatever scraps of land they could hold onto. That was the future of the world as Mankar Camoran had planned it. That was the future that would come inevitably, no matter how many valiant men and women, how many heroes quested to prevent it and restore the peace. That those heroes were likely to clash and undo each other's work towards the common goal was merely a sad irony.


After a moment of silence Mankar returned the coin and closed the lid on the milkywhite box.
"True." Mankar said, "Our opponents are graver than we thought, but we are far from beaten."
He took the priceless artefact from the pillow it rested on and held it out to his son.
"Take the coffer with you Raven, and hide it well. We'll stick to this plan for a while yet but if things keep getting worse for us, I want it safe. Far away from Harrow or this Dreth of yours."


Raven turned to leave with the coffer. But the moment he made a single step towards the door he froze. No matter how much he struggled, the Altmer couldn't move and his eyes widened at the familiar greenish glow that shimmered on the walls. His father walked around him in a circle and studied his reaction. Then he lifted the spell he'd cast.
"As I thought." He said and waved aside all the questions that burned on the younger Camoran's tongue.
"Later. I'd rather not have to explain twice. Go do Dagon's chore, my son. I will fetch Ruma before she can come to harm."


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Kvatch, Sorian


No one volunteered.


Go in, grab the thingie, find Kvatch. That was the plan the treehugger had come up with. As far as plans went, it was rather dumb. But then again, what did a tavern owner know about battles? Baurus, Hieronymous Lex and some other men worked out a better one. But it wasn't that much better. At least it was simple to remember.


The soldiers would go in first and make as much noise as possible before falling back to the gap in the wall. The place was a perfect spot to hold. A corridor with right angle turns and Stone-Breaker thought they could block it off quickly with a barricade made from his troops' shields. There would be just enough room for the people behind it to poke at any enemies with spears. A hundred warriors against an endless horde of monsters. And that was supposed to be the easy part. It was what they were trained for, what they understood. Just that their foes were Daedra instead of other soldiers didn't change it, just made it harder. Which was probably why no one volunteered for the real fight.


While the bait was trying its best not to get eaten, a second party would go over the walls in a different spot and enter Kvatch itself. What came after that we didn't know. Find the thingie, find the princess' master key. Easier said than done considering that we had an entire city full of Daedra to search. While dragging the treehugger along. She was the only one who could recognize the artefact on sight and use it. So not just a walk through an overrun city, but also an escort. No wonder no one volunteered. The soldiers because they were needed at the wall, the mercenaries because they wanted to have a chance to spend their coin. Even Baurus passed on it at first.


"I am sworn to guard you. Were you to walk into Oblivion yourself, I would be one step ahead of you.. If you will not, I cannot go either." He'd said, then launched into how he didn't want her to go. She'd cut him off before he could finish one more sentence.
"Baurus, this isn't about me. This is about protecting all of Mundus. If I thought I would be of any help going in there myself, I'd drug myself with whatever I needed to stop thinking about my own safety and jump in. And that's why I want you to forget about that oath. Honour isn't worth the breath of its declaration if there is no one alive to hear it. I'm going to save everyone my way. Every single one of them. You can't help me with that."
They'd argued over it till late in the night but in the end it hadn't been a contest. One was taught to fight with swords, the other with words. By morning, I expected he would be the first to show up at the breach with half an armoury hanging off him.




I volunteered. A city under siege by monsters from another world? An Ansei wouldn't hesitate twice and more importantly, I was not going to let Baurus upstage me. The fact that the princess had insisted on sending him because he was good at it, yet refused me the same glory, stung.
"Do I have to bring up the zombie? Again?" Maorlatta had snapped at me when I told her of my plans.
"You just did. And I don't care. You need people for your crazy scheme and I don't exactly see them lining up outside." I'd said back at her.
"There isn't enough coin in the world to convince even one mercenary and the soldiers hide behind their rules and orders. You need people and you're not getting them!"
" You're too greedy , Sorian. It's suicide.."
"And that right there is why everybody is suddenly so busy!"


I ran out before she could give me second-thoughts.



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I walked around camp for a while, looking around and making idle talk with a few soldiers who let me join them at their fire. They weren't happy, but then nobody was. Not that it was all bad. There were lights in the west, which promised reinforcements from Anvil soon. And we had our own messengers racing to Skingrad for more troops and whatnot right that moment. So even if we were to fail tomorrow, at least the survivors would be able to get some solid aid.


When morning drew near I climbed the road to the front gates. I still didn't want to give the Maormer another chance to tell me how stupid I was for going and figured that I should be safe if I went up early. Because there was no way she would go anywhere near the city. Not after telling everyone how dangerous it was. At least that was what I thought. It turned out that she had gone up even before I did. Now Maorlatta and a bunch of other healers were setting up a tent with beds and tables and all the other tools of their trade. Baurus was not going to like this. She came running the moment she saw me and asked a very predictable question.
"You're still going?"


What was I supposed to say? Yes? She would just complain again. But after a moment of awkward silence she shoved her shoulderbag into my hands and went back to the tent without another word. I saw Baurus sitting on a stone near the gate and walked over to join him. He was sharpening a sword. A thin curved one, not one of his own straight ones. The treehugger and her daughter were with them. She was making up a story about the blade, how it had been hidden inside a wall of her home by a big green Orc. I hoped she wasn't going to drag the little girl along.


"So, this is it? Just us two?" I said once I got near. The elf didn't count.
"Three." Someone said behind me. It was the gateguard I'd seen talking with Lex and Stone-Breaker the day before. Mathius.
"I'm coming with you." He continued. The man was filthy, eyes red and baggy. His shoulders drooped and his hands shook.
"I think not. You can hardly stand." I replied. Before I could react the man snatched the bag out of my hands and took a vial out of it which he chugged down.
"I am a guardsman of Kvatch. For centuries we have defended her walls and I will not permit anyone to say that the wolves abandoned her in her hour of need while outsiders fought and died for her sake."


How had he known the princess' bag held potions? He must have seen her fill it. But wouldn't she need it herself? I looked to Baurus for advice but the Redguard only looked at the sword in his hands.
"You will follow my orders without questioning. We are not here for honour or glory. We are here because we are needed." He said and stood up.
"The troops are getting ready. We should get into position ourselves."