Oblivion
She stared into that abyss in a kind of awed horror. She did not, could not understand it, that yawning void. It was lightless infinity condensed into an almost humanoid form. It had no eyes, but she could feel it looking at her, through her. Worse, she felt its hunger.
Solar
The bird people were fascinating, yet vicious. She watched as the burning light descended on the small village, obliterating it. To harness the full destructive power of the sun ... of course it would be unfortunate for the victims. But imagine such weapons turned against the Iron Horde: victory, assured.
Accord
The Lifebinder was beauty incarnate. She wore a mortal shell, but the queen of all dragons remained regal. The other dragons present were all powerful and unique in their fashions, and Chirp felt insignificant beside them. A small, gnomish hand tugged on her own. "You could catch flies like that."
Ingredient
She wasn't sure if it was the frostweed, the fish oil, or the simple combination. She tested the mix thoroughly, adjusting the recipe. The transformation would be complete, and permanent. It would change everything about her - physically anyway. She couldn't afford to be recognized by her old friends.
Showing posts with label Oblivion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Oblivion. Show all posts
Monday, December 22, 2014
Monday, November 28, 2011
Nobody Important 33 - Mesmerizing
((Whooooaaaa. I'm like two weeks away from an actual honest-to-god more-or-less stable work schedule. Mondays off for this week and the next. Should get a post in next Monday, too.
Not knowing when I'll have free to write makes it hard to get writing done. Plus general ill health and inability to sleep.
Holy shit holy shit holy shit this story hit 396 hits on fanfiction.net Sunday. /faint.))
If the Dunmer had wanted her dead, she wouldn't have lived to see the sunrise, painful as it may have been. That thought kept her calm when every instinct shrieked for her to run.
"Why stop?" She asked, instead.
The smith frowned ever so slightly. "What makes you think I have, fledgling?"
"I'm alive."
He nodded slowly. "There is that. Should I kill you, then? I would be within my rights, to kill a vampire in my own home, one who's hurt a mortal even." For emphasis, he gestured at the Bosmer on the bed. "The guard wouldn't care - not one person would so much as bat an eyelash, not when they saw those fangs. Would anyone mourn your passing? That boy, maybe?" She tried not to show her hurt. He was testing her, poking at her weak points. She looked down and away, ashamed she couldn't maintain her composure.
"I'll take your silence as a no."
She swallowed heavily. "I don't want to die. Not yet." She was surprised to realize it was true. She had work yet to do. Even if she didn't - even though her family was dead, even though that left a gaping wound where her heart should be, she wanted to heal. "I don't." She wanted to see Martin again, and even his Blades intrigued her.
"Should I care what you want?" He pointed at her with the blade he'd used on her bandages, expression cold. She shook her head slowly. "... Well, I do."
Her gaze snapped back to his face, she stared at him in confusion. "Fledgling ... not one person in this world will show you kindness. Most won't even show you mercy - not if they know who you are, what you are." He shook his head, sounding ... almost sad? "Most would kill you without a second thought, but you - just by your actions, you have proven you are a thinking, feeling person. You, like everyone else, have the choice to do good. Should you be slain, just because your condition makes the choice harder?"
Lyssi frowned again. "So, you don't hunt vampires."
Something about what she said must have been funny; he laughed merrily. She felt her cheeks warm once more. "No, no, fledgling. If a vampire causes problems in Anvil, I would happily rip off their limbs and stake them out for the sun. Even if I didn't, your kind cleans up their own messes. Like that beast who slaughtered the Cheydinhal guard." She stared at him once more, fear welling up. He couldn't know. "Yes, you've heard of that, haven't you. It put a lot of people on edge. I'd wager it's hard for even a normal burglar to operate in that city right now, much less a vampire."
She nodded slowly. "I had nothing to do with that." It wasn't really a lie. She hadn't exactly been in control of her actions, and she couldn't remember the details. It was almost, almost like another person entirely had done it.
He laughed again, and she smiled uncertainly in response. "Nine, no. You're a year old, fledgling. Most vampires your adge would have trouble with a gang of schoolchildren, much less the armed, armored, and most importantly, trained, organized city guard."
He reached out to ruffle her hair, laughing again when she reflexively tried to duck out of the way of his descending hand.
"Come, fledgling, help me clean up this mess, hm?"
They made their way into Anvil shortly after dusk, despite Ariel's protests. Martin couldn't explain the sense he had - it was an intuition, he supposed, and his gut had never steered him wrong. The Bosmer girl, this "Alyssia," would be necessary in the coming days. He was certain of it.
Ariel had a word for it. She called it "infatuation."
Martin didn't want to think terribly hard on why he was so focused on the girl. For one, he found it difficult to focus on the question itself. For another -
He spotted her by the city's lighthouse, and pointed her out to his traveling companions. Ariel gave him an odd look, then wordlessly produced a vial of potion, dabbing one drop onto each of her eyelids. It wasn't that dark out, was it?
He shook his head as Ariel gave the vial to Roth.
The Bosmer girl made her way down to the cellar of the lighthouse, producing a key.
"How do you suppose she got that, hm?" Ariel asked it quietly, so as not to draw her attention.
Martin shrugged in reply. "Let's go ask her, hm?"
The reek of gore was overpowering.
A dog sat, panting, at the Bosmer's heel, its mouth bloodied. There was the mark of long violence on the poor animal, and a half-crazed look in its eye, but it seemed calm - for the moment.
Nude bodies were stacked on the cellar's shelves - most had been partially eaten, and all had begun to rot.
The elf stood frozen at the center of the cellar, apparently frozen in place. Martin pushed away visions of Kvatch, walking the handful of steps he needed to reach her. "Alyssia," he murmured.
Her eyes were open wide, unblinking, the pupils shrunk to thin slits. Her nostrils were flared, and her mouth slightly open, putting her small fangs on display.
"Snap out of it, come on."
A voice called to her, serenading, crooning. It pierced the roaring triumph of the beast inside her mind, and she became a person again in bits and pieces, ever so slowly.
"Come on, let's get out of here."
Lyssi shook her head to clear it, holding up a single finger. "Need - book." She managed to bite the words out around the sick feeling in her throat. She'd spotted some kind of a journal, before she'd lost herself. Fortunately, she didn't have to explain herself any further. Understanding dawned in the priest's eyes. He covered his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his robe, peering about. "Is that a head?" He asked it in quiet wonder, and she nodded once.
It was, indeed, a head, set upon a plate, withered and rotted from age. The hair had just recently been brushed, and a careful hand had applied some kind of makeup to its face.
She couldn't focus, couldn't think. All she could hear was Martin's heartbeat, the blood surging through his veins. So much had been spilt and she wanted - needed - a taste. She felt herself shaking, every inch of her quivering like a skooma addict, desperate for a hit.
Martin was the one to spot the leatherbound journal, its pages lying open for anyone to read. Lyssi only just managed to tear her eyes away from his neck as he made his way to the book.
Outside, she could hear the sound of someone retching, and she used that to ground herself, distracting herself, momentarily, from the ravenous hunger.
Pages turned, and she had to stop him. She had to - he would learn everything.
She couldn't let herself get any closer. Martin was the only person still living that she didn't want to have to kill. She couldn't - wouldn't - let a careless mistake jeopardize his life, and she was so hungry.
"Don't," she asked, instead. There was a note of pleading in her voice she couldn't help.
Finally, she let herself glance back in his direction - surely looking wasn't so bad, was it? She wouldn't lose control just staring at him, the way his pulse jumped and danced in his throat - no. She dragged her gaze up to his face. His mouth was set in a hard, angry line as he read.
"Please, stop?"
She refused to force him, but ... it was the only way, wasn't it?
He paused then, to look from the book to the carnage. His eyes settled on her, and his expression cut her like a knife. The disgust - the betrayal. He kept his voice even, but only barely. "I healed you - I trusted in you ... you monster. Is this why you needed to get to Anvil?"
She hadn't meant for him to follow her this far. "I ..."
"You what? This looks ... bad, Alyssia." He gestured at the severed head, laughing a bit bitterly. "You're a vampire. This ... is this your lair? Your home? Is that your mother?" He pointed at the severed head. "She's dead. You might have noticed."
Wait, what?
She shook her head, just staring at him blankly. His heart was racing with his anger, and it was impossible to think with such a distraction. He threw the book at her, and she caught it in numb fingers, looking down at it in confusion. What?
"So that's it. You needed to get back, to ... what? Finish disposing of the bodies? Feed? This is revolting." He stormed toward the door, indignation in his every step. "Never speak to me again."
"I - no - listen - "
He whirled toward her again. "So you can fill my head with lies?" His eyes were like chips of ice. "Why can't I remember our first meeting, Alyssia? Is that even your real name, vampire?" She fell silent, staring down at the ground, hugging the book to her chest.
At her heel, the dog growled slightly.
"Answer me."
She felt tears welling up, but she pushed them back, swallowing heavily. "This isn't my work." Her voice sounded tiny, even to her own ears, strong as they were.
He folded his arms. "So. Why can't I remember."
"I didn't mean - " She shook her head again, swiping at her eyes.
He laughed a bit, but there wasn't any humor to it. "You didn't mean what? You didn't mean for me to find out?" He threw his hands up in the air. "Well obviously! Why else would you wipe my memory?"
"I didn't want you to know - "
He cut her off, glaring fiercely. "You violated my mind."
She flinched, staring down at the book. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. The tears fell freely. She hung her head; her hair fell in her face, partially masking her shame.
Warmth enveloped her, and she stared up at him shocked confusion. "Nine, girl. I don't know what to do with you at all." One of his hands ran through her hair, and she sensed him giving the carnage one last look. "Just ... if this is all compulsion - no, don't tell me. Not right now."
"You should go," she mumbled into his chest. He was so warm. A tiny bite wouldn't hurt, would it? The beast inside helpfully reminded her of the euphoric high his blood gave. "Should leave me."
There wasn't any conviction to her tone. She didn't want to be alone anymore.
"I'm taking you out of here." His voice was soothing, and she found herself hypnotized. His scent, the call of his blood, overpowered even the stench of the bloated corpses. She'd do anything for another taste. "After that, we can talk, okay?"
She found herself nodding in agreement with whatever he had to say, leaning in for a tiny sip.
"No biting." He swatted her once, like he might an unruly pet. She caught the finger between her teeth, nicking his skin.
It was enough.
Lightning shot through her as the first drops touched her tongue. She suckled just so,running her tongue along the digit in long, sensual strokes. A strangled noise escaped him, and he hastily retrieved his hand.
"No." He said it quietly, strain in his voice. "Not here." Her stomach calmed after only one sip.
Lyssi obliged him, stepping back with a tiny smile.
She had the feeling she'd be smiling more often in the coming nights.
She followed Martin as he quickly vacated the cellar, hugging the book to her chest. She thought she might follow him anywhere ... if only for another bite.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Chapter 32 - Poking Holes
In which inflations are deflated.
Sated, the bestial instinct subsided completely, leaving Lyssi alone with the horror of what she'd almost done. A strangled, choked-off noise escaped her, and she pressed her left hand to the boy's throat, white light suffusing the injury.
Did she have any healing potions left? The liquid did wonders to restore lost blood - no, damn it, she'd used the last one after Ungolim.
She glanced back at the smith, panic filling her. Unthinking, she shot a Command back at the Dunmer.
Find a healer, quickly!
Why did she immediately think of Martin?
The Dunmer raised an eyebrow, lowering his weapon. Didn't he understand that time was of the essence?
"Well, then."
The man paused for another long moment, then sheathed his sword. "I'll have you know, I've shaken off worse Commands from more powerful beasts than you, girl." He shook his head slightly, as though clearing cobwebs from it. "As it happens, I keep a store of healing potions in case of emergency. If my apprentice dies before I return, you will live just long enough to regret what you've done. That's a promise."
He left her there, the young Bosmer cradled to her chest, for what felt like hours. She had more than enough time for it to fully sink in that she could actually use her left arm again, though she still couldn't really breathe. There was a ... pressure. She felt like she was holding a breath, only she couldn't exhale, either.
The smith returned moments before she was sure the apprentice would have died, bearing a heavy-looking case that she thought read "First Aid."
Inside the case, she spotted a number of small, labeled vials, a roll of bandages, and a couple of scrolls. She couldn't make anything else out from where she stood. The Dunmer retrieved three vials from the case, then carefully placed them against his apprentice's lips, one by one, making sure not even a drop was wasted.
"Have you ever considered a career in medicine? There's a good girl, help me carry him back to his room." Lyssi did as commanded, relieved to realize her strength was returning enough that she didn't need any help. The smith carried his "First Aid" kit, instead.
"I forgot how strong even a little thing like you could be, with your ... condition." The smith inspected the boy's neck, and Lyssi stepped back, away from the bed. It was a nice room, with heavy drapes. Of course, a smith could afford the best.
"As I suspected, the wounds are already closed. He'll need rest, but he should recover." The Dunmer patted his apprentice's shoulder, fondly. "As for you ..."
He turned to look at her, and she felt her gaze immediately drop to the floor. "Nine, it would almost be a mercy to put you out of your misery, I think." Her head snapped up, and her eyes narrowed. Mentally, she dared him to try it. "Perhaps not. You can't speak?" She shook her head, once again making the vague throat-gesture that generally seemed to communicate her problem. "Was it recent?" She blinked, blinked again. What? She nodded slowly.
"I don't actually see any throat injuries - " the smith touched his own eyes for a moment, and she felt the low thrum of magic in the air. Then, he gently tilted her head from side to side. "Your Sire was a vicious brute, wasn't ... he? He." Callused fingers skimmed against the old scar. Experience told her that soon, it would be the only one left. The others - more recent - would likely fade quickly, if she got a chance to rest and heal fully. In response to his question, however, she could only nod.
Vicente wasn't a beast, but then, he had never bitten her.
Tears welled up unbidden.
Vicente was gone. She'd killed him.
"Focus dear, crying never helped anyone. What happened? Was it a piercing wound?" She nodded again, rubbing at her eyes.
"Ah, may I see?"
Lyssi bit her lip, glancing over at Enilroth's sleeping form. "Dear, you haven't got anything I haven't seen before and frankly, if the boy hasn't, then he could use the education." The smith gave her a long look. "None of you Bosmer women have much up top anyway. Show me."
After a long moment's deliberation, she obeyed. Slipping her arms out of the sleeves caused the dress to fall about her waist, held there only by the belt.
This garnered another long stare. "You know, I've seen worse, but it's been years. Those bandages need to be changed at the very least. Let me see." She almost jumped out of her skin when he came at her with a knife, but he was all business, cutting the cloth away with practiced ease and inspecting her injuries with a surgeon's critical eye. She noticed he wore thin leather gloves, just as Jauffre had, and was startled to spot an old bite wound on his forearm.
"I've done things I'm not proud of. I've seen good men die, and put more than a few of them down myself." She felt a pinching under her ribs, and decided she'd rather not look at what he was doing. "I'd guess you're a fledgling - less than a century?"
A rush of air escaped her chest - wasn't the problem that she couldn't take any air in?
She nodded, though he couldn't see it.
"Most vampires in your position would have dropped the boy to deal with me. They would have had to - fighters need their hands free, and it's a very, very rare mage who can cast without sound or gesture. But you ..." The smith dabbed a cold liquid against the hole he just made, and continued. "You are such a mage. But the order, 'Find a healer.'" He paused for a moment. "Try to inhale, please." She was startled to realize she could.
Inhale, exhale.
Breathing.
She was breathing!
"Good girl. How long have you been a vampire?"
She worked her jaw, taking a few practice breaths before replying. "Year?" She could speak! Her voice was all gritty, and she'd all-but forgotten how, but she could speak!
"You have remarkable control for a year-old fledgling. Military?"
She shook her head, then added a, "No," at the end, just because she could.
"Ah, well. Who was that boy you pictured? He must be important to you." The smith wrapped a fresh roll of bandages around her chest, fastening them in place with an odd metal clip. It looked a bit like a small butterfly.
"I ... that is ..."
The smith stood fully again, peeling off the gloves with some care. "Try not to blush, it wastes blood." He rubbed a clear gel between his hands. It smelled like alcohol; she wrinkled her nose. "And don't make faces. Basic sanitation prevents the spread of diseases like yours."
She took a moment to try and process what he was saying. "How do ..." She trailed off, unsure how to continue.
"How do I know all this? Dear girl, I've been hunting vampires longer than I'd wager you've been alive."
((Sorry about going MIA Monday - excessively common that. Starting my new position, in training again, no time at work to actually do bloggery anymore. Might/might not post for the next couple weeks. Probably at LEAST one a week though.))
Sated, the bestial instinct subsided completely, leaving Lyssi alone with the horror of what she'd almost done. A strangled, choked-off noise escaped her, and she pressed her left hand to the boy's throat, white light suffusing the injury.
Did she have any healing potions left? The liquid did wonders to restore lost blood - no, damn it, she'd used the last one after Ungolim.
She glanced back at the smith, panic filling her. Unthinking, she shot a Command back at the Dunmer.
Find a healer, quickly!
Why did she immediately think of Martin?
The Dunmer raised an eyebrow, lowering his weapon. Didn't he understand that time was of the essence?
"Well, then."
The man paused for another long moment, then sheathed his sword. "I'll have you know, I've shaken off worse Commands from more powerful beasts than you, girl." He shook his head slightly, as though clearing cobwebs from it. "As it happens, I keep a store of healing potions in case of emergency. If my apprentice dies before I return, you will live just long enough to regret what you've done. That's a promise."
He left her there, the young Bosmer cradled to her chest, for what felt like hours. She had more than enough time for it to fully sink in that she could actually use her left arm again, though she still couldn't really breathe. There was a ... pressure. She felt like she was holding a breath, only she couldn't exhale, either.
The smith returned moments before she was sure the apprentice would have died, bearing a heavy-looking case that she thought read "First Aid."
Inside the case, she spotted a number of small, labeled vials, a roll of bandages, and a couple of scrolls. She couldn't make anything else out from where she stood. The Dunmer retrieved three vials from the case, then carefully placed them against his apprentice's lips, one by one, making sure not even a drop was wasted.
"Have you ever considered a career in medicine? There's a good girl, help me carry him back to his room." Lyssi did as commanded, relieved to realize her strength was returning enough that she didn't need any help. The smith carried his "First Aid" kit, instead.
"I forgot how strong even a little thing like you could be, with your ... condition." The smith inspected the boy's neck, and Lyssi stepped back, away from the bed. It was a nice room, with heavy drapes. Of course, a smith could afford the best.
"As I suspected, the wounds are already closed. He'll need rest, but he should recover." The Dunmer patted his apprentice's shoulder, fondly. "As for you ..."
He turned to look at her, and she felt her gaze immediately drop to the floor. "Nine, it would almost be a mercy to put you out of your misery, I think." Her head snapped up, and her eyes narrowed. Mentally, she dared him to try it. "Perhaps not. You can't speak?" She shook her head, once again making the vague throat-gesture that generally seemed to communicate her problem. "Was it recent?" She blinked, blinked again. What? She nodded slowly.
"I don't actually see any throat injuries - " the smith touched his own eyes for a moment, and she felt the low thrum of magic in the air. Then, he gently tilted her head from side to side. "Your Sire was a vicious brute, wasn't ... he? He." Callused fingers skimmed against the old scar. Experience told her that soon, it would be the only one left. The others - more recent - would likely fade quickly, if she got a chance to rest and heal fully. In response to his question, however, she could only nod.
Vicente wasn't a beast, but then, he had never bitten her.
Tears welled up unbidden.
Vicente was gone. She'd killed him.
"Focus dear, crying never helped anyone. What happened? Was it a piercing wound?" She nodded again, rubbing at her eyes.
"Ah, may I see?"
Lyssi bit her lip, glancing over at Enilroth's sleeping form. "Dear, you haven't got anything I haven't seen before and frankly, if the boy hasn't, then he could use the education." The smith gave her a long look. "None of you Bosmer women have much up top anyway. Show me."
After a long moment's deliberation, she obeyed. Slipping her arms out of the sleeves caused the dress to fall about her waist, held there only by the belt.
This garnered another long stare. "You know, I've seen worse, but it's been years. Those bandages need to be changed at the very least. Let me see." She almost jumped out of her skin when he came at her with a knife, but he was all business, cutting the cloth away with practiced ease and inspecting her injuries with a surgeon's critical eye. She noticed he wore thin leather gloves, just as Jauffre had, and was startled to spot an old bite wound on his forearm.
"I've done things I'm not proud of. I've seen good men die, and put more than a few of them down myself." She felt a pinching under her ribs, and decided she'd rather not look at what he was doing. "I'd guess you're a fledgling - less than a century?"
A rush of air escaped her chest - wasn't the problem that she couldn't take any air in?
She nodded, though he couldn't see it.
"Most vampires in your position would have dropped the boy to deal with me. They would have had to - fighters need their hands free, and it's a very, very rare mage who can cast without sound or gesture. But you ..." The smith dabbed a cold liquid against the hole he just made, and continued. "You are such a mage. But the order, 'Find a healer.'" He paused for a moment. "Try to inhale, please." She was startled to realize she could.
Inhale, exhale.
Breathing.
She was breathing!
"Good girl. How long have you been a vampire?"
She worked her jaw, taking a few practice breaths before replying. "Year?" She could speak! Her voice was all gritty, and she'd all-but forgotten how, but she could speak!
"You have remarkable control for a year-old fledgling. Military?"
She shook her head, then added a, "No," at the end, just because she could.
"Ah, well. Who was that boy you pictured? He must be important to you." The smith wrapped a fresh roll of bandages around her chest, fastening them in place with an odd metal clip. It looked a bit like a small butterfly.
"I ... that is ..."
The smith stood fully again, peeling off the gloves with some care. "Try not to blush, it wastes blood." He rubbed a clear gel between his hands. It smelled like alcohol; she wrinkled her nose. "And don't make faces. Basic sanitation prevents the spread of diseases like yours."
She took a moment to try and process what he was saying. "How do ..." She trailed off, unsure how to continue.
"How do I know all this? Dear girl, I've been hunting vampires longer than I'd wager you've been alive."
((Sorry about going MIA Monday - excessively common that. Starting my new position, in training again, no time at work to actually do bloggery anymore. Might/might not post for the next couple weeks. Probably at LEAST one a week though.))
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Chapter 31: Bloodlust
((Only a month 'til Skyrim! Better get cracking on this!))
Stay quiet, follow me.
Lyssi kept her focus on the other Bosmer as she gently tugged him away from the staircase, toward a side door she'd noticed before. His eyes were wide, and he'd become almost as pale as she was, but he didn't speak. He couldn't speak. She made sure of that, focusing every bit of her power on that one thought.
Stay quiet, follow me.
She sat him down on a barrel in what appeared to be a storage room, then shuffled her backpack off of her shoulder. She'd been expecting the torches and pitchforks response, and she'd expected to have to flee. It landed with a heavy thump, the thin blanket following. She fished the dead drop out of her pack, holding it up for the boy to see.
Enilroth became as pale as the white-gold tower of the Imperial City, trembling so badly that it shook the barrel he sat on. He recognized the package. She could taste his fear in the air, and it took too much work to convince herself she didn't enjoy it. The predator inside her knew the scent of an easy kill.
She split her attention now, letting the boy speak if he chose to - she scratched letters into the air, light following her fingertips.
"Who gave you this." The boy's suspicious activity was too recent. Combined with, his age, his raw terror - he was prey, not predator. He wasn't the traitor, he wasn't even a Brother. He had never taken a life, she was as sure of that as she was her own name. He was shaking almost violently, now.
"I'm... I'm sorry!" The boy barely got the words out past his terror. She raised an eyebrow, gesturing for him to continue. "I didn't mean to do anything wrong ... it ... it was the robed man!"
The traitor. Yes. She grinned to herself. Finally.
Enilroth was apparently encouraged by her smile. Maybe he was just terrified - probably, he was just terrified. "He... he paid me to put those things in the barrel. The ... the coins, I still have them, if ... I mean, I meant to ... please don't hurt me?" The boy swallowed heavily.
"The man." Let the boy think she'd kill him if he didn't tell her more. It was almost amusing.
"I don't know his name, and his face was in shadow. He ... he called to me yesterday as I walked by the lighthouse. I think he lives there! Or he did, anyway? I don't know. He ... He told me he was leaving Anvil. I'm sorry, but that's all I know!"
Leaving. Her grin became a scowl. The traitor had slipped out of her grasp because she was weak. She felt her fingers flex. Because of the demons, and the priest-turned-emperor, and her gods-cursed festering wounds, she hadn't been fast enough to intercept the traitor.
And now she was forced to wait another day ... she found herself pacing, trying to think of a way to protect herself from the sunlight.
There was nothing for it. She'd have to investigate this lighthouse, but she was confined to the smithy until the sun set. "You're ... you are, aren't you?" The boy sounded nervous still, but also curious. For the moment, she'd forgotten he was still there - of course, she stood between him and the door.
She glanced over at him, scratching her response into the air. The light flickered, shimmering into - and out of - existence, dying mere moments after she'd finished writing. She was almost out of magic. "Are what."
"A - a vampire. You really are a vampire, aren't you?" He sounded more curious than afraid, now. Suddenly, she wished she'd thought to bind him. Something about his curiousity unsettled her. He wasn't afraid enough for that kind of a revelation. She nodded once, hesitantly. "You're nothing like I thought you'd be. You're real pretty and ... well, you don't have wings, or ... or claws, or cloven feet or anything. You're practically a real person."
Pretty? She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head to the side, folding her arms - or well, folding her right arm over her chest. Her left arm still hung limply.
He leaned forward. "What's it like? When you bite people, I mean. You - do still, you know, bite people, right?" She frowned slightly. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't fed recently. She thought she might be on the mend - she no longer felt sick just thinking about food. "In all the stories and everything, I mean ... that is ... they all say it feels ... um."
In fact, she could go for a bite after all. She smiled, making sure he could see her teeth.
He swallowed heavily, and she put a finger to his lips.
Then she leaned forward, tugging his head gently to the right. She lapped at his throat, feeling his pulse jump under her careful ministrations. He would enjoy this, she'd make sure of it.
She had enough control for that, at least, didn't she?
Her fangs were razor sharp - she knew it didn't hurt when she applied just a little pressure, but already he was bleeding. He was so nervous, and his heart beat so quickly. She let herself enjoy his fear, licking at the tiny wounds she'd made. Just a taste, before the main course.
The boy actually moaned quietly. She knew he'd enjoy it.
She sank her fangs in again, this time a bit deeper, blood shooting into her mouth when she suckled, ever so gently. It tasted like she imagined ambrosia might. Hunger always had been the best spice, and she hadn't realized how starved she'd let herself become. She felt the blood knitting her injuries back together. The boy wouldn't miss the little blood she needed to survive, she reasoned - only, some rational part of her pointed out, she'd taken far more than she normally did.
She ignored that rational part. Her left arm joined her right in holding the boy still - he didn't seem to be able to hold himself upright anymore.
The door slammed open, and she heard steel scrape on steel.
"That's enough, I think."
Stay quiet, follow me.
Lyssi kept her focus on the other Bosmer as she gently tugged him away from the staircase, toward a side door she'd noticed before. His eyes were wide, and he'd become almost as pale as she was, but he didn't speak. He couldn't speak. She made sure of that, focusing every bit of her power on that one thought.
Stay quiet, follow me.
She sat him down on a barrel in what appeared to be a storage room, then shuffled her backpack off of her shoulder. She'd been expecting the torches and pitchforks response, and she'd expected to have to flee. It landed with a heavy thump, the thin blanket following. She fished the dead drop out of her pack, holding it up for the boy to see.
Enilroth became as pale as the white-gold tower of the Imperial City, trembling so badly that it shook the barrel he sat on. He recognized the package. She could taste his fear in the air, and it took too much work to convince herself she didn't enjoy it. The predator inside her knew the scent of an easy kill.
She split her attention now, letting the boy speak if he chose to - she scratched letters into the air, light following her fingertips.
"Who gave you this." The boy's suspicious activity was too recent. Combined with, his age, his raw terror - he was prey, not predator. He wasn't the traitor, he wasn't even a Brother. He had never taken a life, she was as sure of that as she was her own name. He was shaking almost violently, now.
"I'm... I'm sorry!" The boy barely got the words out past his terror. She raised an eyebrow, gesturing for him to continue. "I didn't mean to do anything wrong ... it ... it was the robed man!"
The traitor. Yes. She grinned to herself. Finally.
Enilroth was apparently encouraged by her smile. Maybe he was just terrified - probably, he was just terrified. "He... he paid me to put those things in the barrel. The ... the coins, I still have them, if ... I mean, I meant to ... please don't hurt me?" The boy swallowed heavily.
"The man." Let the boy think she'd kill him if he didn't tell her more. It was almost amusing.
"I don't know his name, and his face was in shadow. He ... he called to me yesterday as I walked by the lighthouse. I think he lives there! Or he did, anyway? I don't know. He ... He told me he was leaving Anvil. I'm sorry, but that's all I know!"
Leaving. Her grin became a scowl. The traitor had slipped out of her grasp because she was weak. She felt her fingers flex. Because of the demons, and the priest-turned-emperor, and her gods-cursed festering wounds, she hadn't been fast enough to intercept the traitor.
And now she was forced to wait another day ... she found herself pacing, trying to think of a way to protect herself from the sunlight.
There was nothing for it. She'd have to investigate this lighthouse, but she was confined to the smithy until the sun set. "You're ... you are, aren't you?" The boy sounded nervous still, but also curious. For the moment, she'd forgotten he was still there - of course, she stood between him and the door.
She glanced over at him, scratching her response into the air. The light flickered, shimmering into - and out of - existence, dying mere moments after she'd finished writing. She was almost out of magic. "Are what."
"A - a vampire. You really are a vampire, aren't you?" He sounded more curious than afraid, now. Suddenly, she wished she'd thought to bind him. Something about his curiousity unsettled her. He wasn't afraid enough for that kind of a revelation. She nodded once, hesitantly. "You're nothing like I thought you'd be. You're real pretty and ... well, you don't have wings, or ... or claws, or cloven feet or anything. You're practically a real person."
Pretty? She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head to the side, folding her arms - or well, folding her right arm over her chest. Her left arm still hung limply.
He leaned forward. "What's it like? When you bite people, I mean. You - do still, you know, bite people, right?" She frowned slightly. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't fed recently. She thought she might be on the mend - she no longer felt sick just thinking about food. "In all the stories and everything, I mean ... that is ... they all say it feels ... um."
In fact, she could go for a bite after all. She smiled, making sure he could see her teeth.
He swallowed heavily, and she put a finger to his lips.
Then she leaned forward, tugging his head gently to the right. She lapped at his throat, feeling his pulse jump under her careful ministrations. He would enjoy this, she'd make sure of it.
She had enough control for that, at least, didn't she?
Her fangs were razor sharp - she knew it didn't hurt when she applied just a little pressure, but already he was bleeding. He was so nervous, and his heart beat so quickly. She let herself enjoy his fear, licking at the tiny wounds she'd made. Just a taste, before the main course.
The boy actually moaned quietly. She knew he'd enjoy it.
She sank her fangs in again, this time a bit deeper, blood shooting into her mouth when she suckled, ever so gently. It tasted like she imagined ambrosia might. Hunger always had been the best spice, and she hadn't realized how starved she'd let herself become. She felt the blood knitting her injuries back together. The boy wouldn't miss the little blood she needed to survive, she reasoned - only, some rational part of her pointed out, she'd taken far more than she normally did.
She ignored that rational part. Her left arm joined her right in holding the boy still - he didn't seem to be able to hold himself upright anymore.
The door slammed open, and she heard steel scrape on steel.
"That's enough, I think."
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
28: Gossip (fanfiction)
Nobody Important
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Gossip
In which not much happens.
By: N3k0
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"What was that about?" Ariel raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking toward the tent flap.
Martin sighed, disgusted with himself. And for what? He hadn't actually done anything wrong. "Nothing."
"I see. It looked like something, to me." She folded her arms, watching him with a level expression. There was ice in her pale blue eyes. "Tell me about it."
The Nord pushed open the tent flap. He was a towering bear of a man, and he had to duck to fit inside the tent that fit its other occupants more easily. "The vampire is leaving the camp." He fell silent again after making the report, somehow making the half-hunched pose look almost dignified.
Ariel glanced back at the Nord. "Ah." Her eyes returned to Martin, and she waited for him to speak.
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She knew she was being followed. It had started sometime after midnight, she thought. Worse, the person - or people - trailing her made better time than she was. They kept out of sight, but every so often the wind would shift, and she'd catch a sound or a scent to let her know they were still there, just around the bend.
There wasn't really much she could do about it though - placing one foot in front of the next took all of her strength, and she saw gray, flickering shadows at the edges of her vision almost constantly. Despite that, the roads were empty, save herself and her tail. Just before sunrise, she found herself at a little inn. Anvil stood proudly, just down the road, but she couldn't make it if she tried. She felt like she had lead in her bones, weighing her down. Every movement was sluggish, and she rested her forehead on the door briefly, before opening it.
The door creaked loudly, and her ears pinned back.
"Oh, hello!" A woman in a blue velvet dress walked up to her, smiling a predator's smile. Lyssi matched in kind, waiting for her eyes to fully adjust. "Are you a, ah ..." The woman caught sight of her bare toes. Even her feet had been more-or-less covered in bandages, though they were a bit dirtier than they'd started out, now. Her gaze skimmed up Lyssi's form, apparently trying to read her. For her part, Lyssi closed the door and leaned back against it, watching for any wrong move from the too-friendly stranger. "Hm. Are you a traveling merchant, perhaps?" The woman seemed like she didn't believe that possibility, though her eyes lingered on Lyssi's heavy-looking backpack. Lyssi glanced down at the thing, herself. Once inside, she'd dropped it to the floor.
She nodded anyway, despite herself. A traveling merchant, maybe one that fell on hard times, that would be a passable cover, anyway. "Oh, you are?" The woman's eyes lit up, and suddenly the lie seemed ill-advised. Lyssi would need to watch this woman. "Aren't you worried, what with all of the attacks?"
Attacks? Lyssi raised an eyebrow. "You haven't heard? There's a killer on the loose, one who targets helpless merchants traveling the road to Kvatch. I would be ever so afraid, were I you."
Oh yes. The woman had heard it.
Lyssi tried to think of a way to express her need for a bed - preferably in a room with a strong lock, maybe a dresser she could use as a barricade - without using language. The woman continued speaking, oblivious. Apparently she didn't really need any input from her prey. "If you really want to stay here, you can talk to the publican, he's sleeping downstairs yet. Be careful now!"
She took the woman's appearance in, so if she happened to come across her in the road, she'd be able to steer well clear. A bad liar, this woman was blonde, and much taller than Lyssi was - probably an Altmer, given the ears. If she was an Altmer, then she'd be magically inclined. The woman didn't have the muscles or calluses from weapons-work to be anything else, and the high elves did, as a rule, prefer magic, didn't they?
In order to purchase a room, Lyssi first had to wake up the publican, which involved poking him in the side a bit. Then she had to get him to understand what she wanted, which involved a small game of charades and an exchange of coin that took more time than she wanted it to. Especially since she had to point out that she was literally incapable of speech ... though she left the exact reason out, not that he'd be able to guess unless she outright showed him the injuries.
By the time she was done getting the room, she was wrung out and exhausted. She closed the door, setting her pack down beside it, and slid down to slump against the solid wood. The last dregs of her energy went to finding a potion in her packs, pulling the cork out with her teeth, and drinking it. Setting the vial aside, her eyes slid closed. Probably, she should have stayed back at the camp.
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A flash of pain, white-hot and searing, through her chest.
It was a stirring, half-waking, half-sleeping. She bit into a delicious chunk of meat, stolen from a nobles' feast, but the insides were crawling with maggots. The maggots crawled into her mouth, and ate her way out of her stomach.
A flash of pain.
She held a single septim in her hands, her last coin. As she watched, it turned to ash. Her hands hurt, throbbing and sore, until her fingers began to rot away.
A flash.
Digging, clawing her way up through a grave, the coffin collapsed in under the weight of soil. She inhaled dirt, coughed and choked, her chest heaving with gargantuan effort. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe - she forgot she didn't need to, thrashing wildly at earth that may as well have been stone for all she could move it.
Pain.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lyssi woke, dotted with sweat, some time later. Her eyes fluttered open, and she felt herself struggling, once again, to try and breathe. She'd kept herself in the habit, so if she needed to, she could talk. Now, the effort made her entire chest throb with pain. She hadn't slept very long, but no one had entered her room, for once. She let herself drift, eavesdropping on the conversations downstairs.
She could distantly hear voices. A male voice, familiar, chatted softly with a female - the woman in blue velvet. The woman laughed at something or other, and it sounded polite rather than amused.
That woman would be a problem. Lyssi would eat someone's boot - since she didn't currently have any of her own - if that woman was genuinely concerned for her well-being. That meant she was probably the attacker, which meant that Lyssi would have to deal with the mage one way or the other, preferably before she headed to Anvil. Her ideas basically boiled down to 'wait for the mage to sleep, then drain her.' She'd probably leave the woman alive - did she still have any disease-curing salves? She didn't want to create a vampire mage ... it might be safer to just kill the woman.
She didn't have any particular qualms about doing so, but ... some part of her wanted to prove she wasn't really a monster anymore. That she could be a good person, now.
Of course, she had no idea what a 'good' person acted like. That was a bit of a problem, but she was fairly sure good people didn't kill others just because they were inconvenient. Maybe just a sleeping drug? She was hungry, ravenous even, that was part of the problem.
"... hear about Cheydinhal?" Lyssi's ears perked up a bit at the mention of her home. Sithis save her ...
A male's response, too soft to hear.
The woman continued. Her voice carried well, piercing the thin wood walls easily. "I heard that an entire clan of vampires stormed the city. They killed several guards and a few civilians, and then they got away. Nobody has seen them since, but everyone is on alert for suspicious, nighttime activity. They've even called on professional vampire hunters. Did you ever hear of such a thing?"
The man said something else, but Lyssi still couldn't quite make it out, nor did she care to.
She wouldn't be able to sleep now. What would happen if she was caught by vampire hunters in her sorry state? She felt drawn and tired.
Part of her wondered, dully, what it would be like to die, as she let her eyes drift closed.
The next pair of voices were much closer, tugging her awake before she'd properly fallen asleep.
"Roth, you didn't." The woman sounded genuinely worried, and there was a rustle of chain armor, a thump. Then, a sloshing, liquid noise. The woman heaved a heavy sigh. "That girl isn't one of your strays, you have to know that. She'll savage you, just like the wolf did that one time, just like the falcon did."
The man's rumble didn't seem terribly concerned. "You cannot blame an animal for its nature."
"You nearly lost your eye!" There was a pause, and vague sounds Lyssi couldn't quite make out. "All right, all right. I can accept the animals. And you did take care of the housecat, even if it turned out to be a Khajiit in disguise, whatever! The puppies all found decent homes. But this girl had a choice. She - it - chose to be a killer. It chose to be a monster."
Lyssi liked animals, too. The Nord rose even higher in her estimation. She'd never been able to keep a pet, but she wanted to. Maybe after this last job.
"Did she have a choice?" Roth's voice held a challenging tone. She didn't really understand why he was defending her, though she appreciated it. It was futile, of course. Ariel was right, and more importantly, she believed she was right. "Do you know her so well?"
There was a long silence. Lyssi found herself drifting off, before the woman's quiet, almost haunted voice brought her back.
"You know what her kind did to my family. You - you've seen my scars."
Suddenly, Lyssi didn't want to hear any more.
"That girl has scars of her own."
Another silence, though not as long.
"I don't trust her."
The man sighed. "I never said you should."
"I'll take first watch. That potion should return some of your strength, but try to get some rest, all right?" The sound of a door opening, then closing again.
The man's voice rumbled through the wall. "Good night, little one."
Had he known she could hear them?
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Gossip
In which not much happens.
By: N3k0
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"What was that about?" Ariel raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking toward the tent flap.
Martin sighed, disgusted with himself. And for what? He hadn't actually done anything wrong. "Nothing."
"I see. It looked like something, to me." She folded her arms, watching him with a level expression. There was ice in her pale blue eyes. "Tell me about it."
The Nord pushed open the tent flap. He was a towering bear of a man, and he had to duck to fit inside the tent that fit its other occupants more easily. "The vampire is leaving the camp." He fell silent again after making the report, somehow making the half-hunched pose look almost dignified.
Ariel glanced back at the Nord. "Ah." Her eyes returned to Martin, and she waited for him to speak.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She knew she was being followed. It had started sometime after midnight, she thought. Worse, the person - or people - trailing her made better time than she was. They kept out of sight, but every so often the wind would shift, and she'd catch a sound or a scent to let her know they were still there, just around the bend.
There wasn't really much she could do about it though - placing one foot in front of the next took all of her strength, and she saw gray, flickering shadows at the edges of her vision almost constantly. Despite that, the roads were empty, save herself and her tail. Just before sunrise, she found herself at a little inn. Anvil stood proudly, just down the road, but she couldn't make it if she tried. She felt like she had lead in her bones, weighing her down. Every movement was sluggish, and she rested her forehead on the door briefly, before opening it.
The door creaked loudly, and her ears pinned back.
"Oh, hello!" A woman in a blue velvet dress walked up to her, smiling a predator's smile. Lyssi matched in kind, waiting for her eyes to fully adjust. "Are you a, ah ..." The woman caught sight of her bare toes. Even her feet had been more-or-less covered in bandages, though they were a bit dirtier than they'd started out, now. Her gaze skimmed up Lyssi's form, apparently trying to read her. For her part, Lyssi closed the door and leaned back against it, watching for any wrong move from the too-friendly stranger. "Hm. Are you a traveling merchant, perhaps?" The woman seemed like she didn't believe that possibility, though her eyes lingered on Lyssi's heavy-looking backpack. Lyssi glanced down at the thing, herself. Once inside, she'd dropped it to the floor.
She nodded anyway, despite herself. A traveling merchant, maybe one that fell on hard times, that would be a passable cover, anyway. "Oh, you are?" The woman's eyes lit up, and suddenly the lie seemed ill-advised. Lyssi would need to watch this woman. "Aren't you worried, what with all of the attacks?"
Attacks? Lyssi raised an eyebrow. "You haven't heard? There's a killer on the loose, one who targets helpless merchants traveling the road to Kvatch. I would be ever so afraid, were I you."
Oh yes. The woman had heard it.
Lyssi tried to think of a way to express her need for a bed - preferably in a room with a strong lock, maybe a dresser she could use as a barricade - without using language. The woman continued speaking, oblivious. Apparently she didn't really need any input from her prey. "If you really want to stay here, you can talk to the publican, he's sleeping downstairs yet. Be careful now!"
She took the woman's appearance in, so if she happened to come across her in the road, she'd be able to steer well clear. A bad liar, this woman was blonde, and much taller than Lyssi was - probably an Altmer, given the ears. If she was an Altmer, then she'd be magically inclined. The woman didn't have the muscles or calluses from weapons-work to be anything else, and the high elves did, as a rule, prefer magic, didn't they?
In order to purchase a room, Lyssi first had to wake up the publican, which involved poking him in the side a bit. Then she had to get him to understand what she wanted, which involved a small game of charades and an exchange of coin that took more time than she wanted it to. Especially since she had to point out that she was literally incapable of speech ... though she left the exact reason out, not that he'd be able to guess unless she outright showed him the injuries.
By the time she was done getting the room, she was wrung out and exhausted. She closed the door, setting her pack down beside it, and slid down to slump against the solid wood. The last dregs of her energy went to finding a potion in her packs, pulling the cork out with her teeth, and drinking it. Setting the vial aside, her eyes slid closed. Probably, she should have stayed back at the camp.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A flash of pain, white-hot and searing, through her chest.
It was a stirring, half-waking, half-sleeping. She bit into a delicious chunk of meat, stolen from a nobles' feast, but the insides were crawling with maggots. The maggots crawled into her mouth, and ate her way out of her stomach.
A flash of pain.
She held a single septim in her hands, her last coin. As she watched, it turned to ash. Her hands hurt, throbbing and sore, until her fingers began to rot away.
A flash.
Digging, clawing her way up through a grave, the coffin collapsed in under the weight of soil. She inhaled dirt, coughed and choked, her chest heaving with gargantuan effort. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe - she forgot she didn't need to, thrashing wildly at earth that may as well have been stone for all she could move it.
Pain.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lyssi woke, dotted with sweat, some time later. Her eyes fluttered open, and she felt herself struggling, once again, to try and breathe. She'd kept herself in the habit, so if she needed to, she could talk. Now, the effort made her entire chest throb with pain. She hadn't slept very long, but no one had entered her room, for once. She let herself drift, eavesdropping on the conversations downstairs.
She could distantly hear voices. A male voice, familiar, chatted softly with a female - the woman in blue velvet. The woman laughed at something or other, and it sounded polite rather than amused.
That woman would be a problem. Lyssi would eat someone's boot - since she didn't currently have any of her own - if that woman was genuinely concerned for her well-being. That meant she was probably the attacker, which meant that Lyssi would have to deal with the mage one way or the other, preferably before she headed to Anvil. Her ideas basically boiled down to 'wait for the mage to sleep, then drain her.' She'd probably leave the woman alive - did she still have any disease-curing salves? She didn't want to create a vampire mage ... it might be safer to just kill the woman.
She didn't have any particular qualms about doing so, but ... some part of her wanted to prove she wasn't really a monster anymore. That she could be a good person, now.
Of course, she had no idea what a 'good' person acted like. That was a bit of a problem, but she was fairly sure good people didn't kill others just because they were inconvenient. Maybe just a sleeping drug? She was hungry, ravenous even, that was part of the problem.
"... hear about Cheydinhal?" Lyssi's ears perked up a bit at the mention of her home. Sithis save her ...
A male's response, too soft to hear.
The woman continued. Her voice carried well, piercing the thin wood walls easily. "I heard that an entire clan of vampires stormed the city. They killed several guards and a few civilians, and then they got away. Nobody has seen them since, but everyone is on alert for suspicious, nighttime activity. They've even called on professional vampire hunters. Did you ever hear of such a thing?"
The man said something else, but Lyssi still couldn't quite make it out, nor did she care to.
She wouldn't be able to sleep now. What would happen if she was caught by vampire hunters in her sorry state? She felt drawn and tired.
Part of her wondered, dully, what it would be like to die, as she let her eyes drift closed.
The next pair of voices were much closer, tugging her awake before she'd properly fallen asleep.
"Roth, you didn't." The woman sounded genuinely worried, and there was a rustle of chain armor, a thump. Then, a sloshing, liquid noise. The woman heaved a heavy sigh. "That girl isn't one of your strays, you have to know that. She'll savage you, just like the wolf did that one time, just like the falcon did."
The man's rumble didn't seem terribly concerned. "You cannot blame an animal for its nature."
"You nearly lost your eye!" There was a pause, and vague sounds Lyssi couldn't quite make out. "All right, all right. I can accept the animals. And you did take care of the housecat, even if it turned out to be a Khajiit in disguise, whatever! The puppies all found decent homes. But this girl had a choice. She - it - chose to be a killer. It chose to be a monster."
Lyssi liked animals, too. The Nord rose even higher in her estimation. She'd never been able to keep a pet, but she wanted to. Maybe after this last job.
"Did she have a choice?" Roth's voice held a challenging tone. She didn't really understand why he was defending her, though she appreciated it. It was futile, of course. Ariel was right, and more importantly, she believed she was right. "Do you know her so well?"
There was a long silence. Lyssi found herself drifting off, before the woman's quiet, almost haunted voice brought her back.
"You know what her kind did to my family. You - you've seen my scars."
Suddenly, Lyssi didn't want to hear any more.
"That girl has scars of her own."
Another silence, though not as long.
"I don't trust her."
The man sighed. "I never said you should."
"I'll take first watch. That potion should return some of your strength, but try to get some rest, all right?" The sound of a door opening, then closing again.
The man's voice rumbled through the wall. "Good night, little one."
Had he known she could hear them?
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Nobody Important, Ch. 26
Nobody Important
In which a one-sided conversation is held.
By: N3k0
Tug, yank, snip.
There a pulling, dragging sensation slowly piecing her back together. Her chest was already a line of fine stitches that made her itch. That was what drug her back to consciousness when she was actually enjoying a dreamless sleep.
She still couldn't breathe.
Tug, yank, snip.
"You're lucky, you know that, right? Incredibly lucky." It was the woman's voice, the one who wanted her dead. Ariel.
Tug, yank, snip.
She didn't seem to want a response, which was good, since Lyssi couldn't exactly form one. "That boy says that your ribs are mending. He put a slow healing on you, he says, one that should fix the broken bones in time. Your heart is whole. He doesn't have a spell to fill your lungs with air, but he seems to be planning something."
Tug, yank, snip.
"He thinks you're some kind of research project. He doesn't see what I see."
Tug, yank, snip.
The line of stitches seemed near the top of the injury. Maybe the woman would leave her alone then. She had to try to get up today. She'd wasted enough time in this town.
Tug, yank, snip.
The woman fell silent for a long minute. Lyssi thought maybe she'd run out of things to say. She hadn't. "You're a monster. For all we know, you were working with the Daedra. It isn't like we can ask you, now is it? How convenient. I could kill you, you know."
Tug, yank, snip.
"It's not like anyone really expects you to survive this, after all." If she was going to do it, she should just do it already. Her right hand flexed, clenching and unclenching. The woman noticed it. "Awake, are you? Good. Can you speak?"
Tug. Yank. Snip. The woman took her silence as a no. "What a pity. Well, I'm done here. Can you sit up on your own?"
She tried. Her left arm still wasn't quite responding, but she pushed up with her right arm. She found herself back on the ground before she managed to get properly off of it. The woman helped her to sit upright. She felt all of her skin tugging at the stitches, but the thread - and her skin - held. "Good enough. Now, I need to ask you some questions." The woman began wrapping a thin roll of soft cloth around her chest. "Just nod or shake your head."
She was dizzy, and she didn't really want to answer the woman's questions. But she didn't think she really had a choice, so she bobbed her head once, dully.
"Were you working with the Daedra?" Lyssi scowled. Oh yes, because any answer she gave to that question could be believed. Still, she shook her head. "I see. You are aware we've gone through your things?" She nodded, dully. Mraaj'Dar's ghost was probably laughing at her. "I need to know that you will not harm Martin." She turned her head enough that she could try and glance back at the woman. "You understand. If we are to believe the contents of those notes, you are a rather accomplished murderer. Some kind of assurance ... are you able to write?"
Another sullen bob of her head.
"Then we will need to set you up with the tools to do so. I cannot allow a potential threat to go unaddressed." Ariel tied off the bandage expertly. "You understand, I'm sure." Her voice had iron in it.
Lyssi nodded.
Of course she understood.
"I don't like this, Ariel." Martin's voice sounded from outside the tent. Someone had changed Lyssi's bedroll out for one that wasn't covered entirely in blood. She supposed she probably should care about people getting infected, but it wasn't her job to worry about that, was it?
Not really. Martin would take care of that. If he didn't, Ariel would. Right? She was laying in the comfortable blankets, drifting. She hadn't managed to fall asleep again, but she'd had time to think. She hadn't really used that time, but that was mostly because she couldn't force herself to focus on anything. It was peaceful. If she tried to think, she'd think about how she was letting Lucien down. How she'd failed the ghosts of her Family. No, it was much better to let her mind drift. Some of the red had started to clear out of her vision.
She heard the woman - Ariel - heave a rather annoyed sigh. "We need to know the girl won't be a threat."
"You know as well as anyone that she can't be disturbed like this if we want her to recover." There was the rustle of the tent flap.
She noticed that the woman's voice seemed to go a bit shrill whens he was angry. That was funny. She'd laugh, if she could. But she couldn't. "Do we want it to recover?"
The tent rustled and closed itself again. A man's strong hands gently brought her to sitting. She let her eyes open, and she saw the Nord's face. The arguing pair were still outside. She sat like a marionette with its strings cut, slumped half-over. It tugged and pulled at the stitches in her back, but she couldn't afford any strength. "Here, drink." The man placed something warm in front of her mouth, and she bit before she knew what she was doing. His hand. He made a quiet noise of pain, but otherwise didn't comment. She suckled on his skin, feeling a bit confused.
"You'll need your strength. Easy now." He pulled on his hand, and she let go after a moment. "Good girl."
The tent flap opened again, and her eyes fixed on the man and the woman entering. The woman placed a small board across her lap, and she shifted slightly. Ariel placed some paper, an inkwell, and a quill on the board. Lyssi looked down at it.
The woman offered a thin smile. But it was a smile, wasn't that a good thing?
No, not this smile.
"I need your name." Lyssi glanced over at Martin, who stood by the tent flap, arms folded.
She scratched it in, using lettering as precise as she could make it, given her shaking hands.
Alyssia.
The woman made a noise. "No last name, then?"
She shook her head. She didn't really need one, did she?
"All right. The letters that you carry, those belong to you?" She nodded. "And you understand the implications?"
Why not just ask.
The woman glanced down at the paper, when Lyssi turned it for her to read it easier. "Ask ... ah. Well then. Are you an assassin?"
She nodded once. There wasn't really any point in lying. The woman took a sharp inhale.
"You understand that involvement in such matters is a crime, of course." Another nod. "How many ... no."
Lyssi took a mental tally, then wrote the number on the paper. 64. The woman looked queasy. It had increased some from her last count. She frowned slightly, tracing a nonsensical design on the side of the board with a fingertip.
"... thanks, I think. Do you ... I ... do you have any plans to harm Martin Septim?" Ariel glanced back at the heir. Lyssi's eyes followed. She locked her gaze on the man, rather than the woman, shaking her head slowly. The man seemed relieved. The woman didn't catch the movement.
Lyssi sighed inwardly - of course she couldn't form the sound - and scratched down her reply on the paper. I have no orders to.
The woman read it, a small frown on her lips. "What are your orders, then? Your current orders, mind." She gnawed her lip, debating on how much to tell. "Don't lie to me. I can see you thinking about it, you know." Lyssi scowled again.
Go to Anvil. Investigate. Not kill anyone.
She didn't add the 'yet' on the end. That much was already obvious, she figured.
"... Ah, I see. And retrieve the ..." She fished out one of the letters. "Reward, and next contract, there?"
Lyssi considered slightly. Something like that.
The woman raised an eyebrow. "But not exactly like that, then?"
A slight smile crossed her lips. No, it isn't.
"... I see."
The woman fell silent for a moment, seeming to understand that was all the more Lyssi was going to tell her about it. It wasn't a comfortable silence. They were both waiting for something, that was what it felt like. Lyssi shifted a bit in place, dipping her quill into the inkwell. There was too much ink, so she tried scraping the tip off on the edge. She was fidgeting, wasting time. I have to go.
"We're supposed to allow you to just leave, then? So you can kill again? It's illegal, what you do." The woman acted like she didn't know that, wasn't aware of it.
I'm not really giving you a choice.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Oblivion Fic: On Miracles
((Cross-posted here.
I'm not very imaginative when it comes to names. This is Chapter 23, incidentally. The rest is also posted there.))
Lyssi felt her life slipping away.
It trickled out sometimes, gushed others. She was going to die, though, that was the important thing. She'd survived fire and daylight and a number of other things that were supposed to kill her, but didn't - and now she was going to die.
It wasn't even an enchanted blade, she thought with mild disgust. Or at least, if it had been enchanted, she couldn't detect the enchantment ... which wasn't saying much; she only dabbled with magic, and that, only when it was needful, which it rarely was. The blade had been demonic in origin, though, that much she knew for certain. More than that, it had pierced her very heart. Normal elves, she was sure, would have died instantly.
Not her. She got to live out long, torturous minutes. At least she didn't have to breathe. She expected that the constant up and down would have torn her chest open even further.
She remembered she was standing on a platform, atop the tallest structure she'd ever seen apart from White-Gold Tower in the Imperial City. She held her pack in one hand, dragging it along the ground behind her. Even enchanted to seem weightless, the thing was ungainly, and often threw her off-balance. She suspected given its natural weight, it wouldn't throw her off as much - but then she'd be hard-pressed to lift it, even with her unnatural strength.
If she'd been wearing it, she wouldn't be dying now, though.
In front of her, floating in a glowing orb of light, was a block, like a hovering, six-sided die.
She held the block up to the first lights of predawn, staring at it with vision that blurred around the edges. It was etched with runes in a language she couldn't begin to make out, but then, she sometimes had a little trouble with plain Tamrielic letters.
Before long, it was too much work to hold the block up, so she set it down on her chest. It was immediately washed in crimson. She was a sticky mess with blood, her clothing ruined, her skin stained.
The demon, clad in full plate, was determined to take his killer with him. She'd thought him dead, but no - here he stood, behind her. She was exhausted by the climb, exhausted by the fight every single demonic sentinel had put up, exhausted by the very land outside this tower turning against her (who ever heard of plants tangling around legs and arms like living things?), and exhausted from the siege before. She hadn't checked to see if he was just playing dead. She hadn't heard him get up, hadn't heard the scraping of a sword drug against stone for the ringing that fought to become a dull roar in her ears.
She'd barely felt it when the sword punctured her chest from behind. There was a flash of something, behind her eyes, and she looked down to see almost two feet of greatsword sticking out of her. The demon had pulled his blade free effortlessly, and she fell forward, catching the stone with her free hand as she fell.
The world disintegrated around her, vanishing before she hit the ground.
Lyssi turned her head slightly to the side. She was lying flat on her back, now, staring at the shattered base of one of the pillars that had formed the massive Oblivion Gate. Apparently, the block was the keystone on which the portal was built, and with it gone, the portal couldn't stand anymore. It made sense to her, in the way anything magical made sense to her: she didn't think about it terribly much.
Right now, she couldn't think of anything terribly much.
But she'd done something. Something important, something good. There were things left to do, but there would always be things to do.
It was all right. She could rest, now.
She never saw the man's form standing over her.
In the early light of predawn, there was a sound that was not unlike a massive gong being rung - or at least, that was how Brother Martin had perceived it. No two refugees heard it the same, though everyone could agree on what came next. A roar, like a massive, angry, dying beast sounded from the south.
From the Oblivion Gate.
A young boy had found the way up to the high tower the chapel sported. Half-ruined, and long unused, no one else dared go up. Now, he did, and he reported the Gate's fall on his return. The Daedra, the boy said, were drawn to it, though only a few remained in the city anyway.
Here then was their diversion. The refugees took only what they needed. Those who could walk assisted those who could not, leaving only those who would not recover even with magical healing, and the bodies of the dead. Maybe they could return one day. Brother Martin prayed it would be one day soon.
The Nine showed him a miracle this day, guarding the refugees as they escaped through a lesser gate. He'd been overly optimistic - in total, it was thirty-seven people who managed to survive and escape, even counting Martin and the two Blades themselves, but that was thirty-seven lives the Nine had spared. They kept quiet, and there was no quarreling. Speed was of the essence, and they made good time out of the city.
Everyone knew that a raised voice here courted vivisection by a daedra - if they were lucky. Almost no one spoke, and when they did, it came in hushed whispers.
The Nine granted him a second miracle on top of the first. Outside the walls of Kvatch, the refugees found a camp of other survivors set up near the main road. Wives clung to their husbands, children to their parents. People mourned - even those few whose families remained mostly intact mourned at least one friend or distant relative. There were more dead than alive - but almost half of Kvatch had survived, it seemed. The nobility had holed up in the castle, so hope sprung from that corner, as well.
Everywhere he turned, he heard whispers about a Hero - or Heroine - of Kvatch, some solitary figure they found in the rubble where the gate had once stood. No one, it seemed, knew where exactly she was, nor how she fared - and Martin was very confident it was a she.
Finally, a guard approached him after sundown. He wore the haggard look of someone who had seen too much fighting these last few days. "I'm to understand you led these people out of the city, Brother Martin?"
Martin nodded quietly, so the man continued. "They tell me you're a healer, and a good one at that, is that true?" Another nod. He was tired, but he had enough magic left to put at least one or two more people to rights before he collapsed outright, anyway. Martin glanced back at Ariel, who stood at his right - the Nord at his left was unreadable, but the woman eyed the guardsman warily. "Forgive my manners - I'm Savlian Matius, acting guard captain."
"Then you'd be the one who held the road against the Daedra for two days straight?" Martin asked, inspecting the man. Still armored, he showed signs of exhaustion, but he wasn't badly injured yet, anyway.
The man - Savlian - nodded. "My men helped, of course. They're good, strong people. I ... also discovered the girl." At this, Martin felt himself perk up considerably. Finally. Ariel's firm hand on his shoulder restrained his eagerness. "Ah ... I see you've heard of our Heroine, then. She's in rough shape. I don't know enough about medicine to know if she can be saved, in all honesty." Savlian reached up, rubbing the back of his head. "And she's ... unusual."
"May I see to her?" Martin asked, keeping himself in check. There might, after all, be nothing he could do.
The guardsman smiled. "Of course."
I'm not very imaginative when it comes to names. This is Chapter 23, incidentally. The rest is also posted there.))
Lyssi felt her life slipping away.
It trickled out sometimes, gushed others. She was going to die, though, that was the important thing. She'd survived fire and daylight and a number of other things that were supposed to kill her, but didn't - and now she was going to die.
It wasn't even an enchanted blade, she thought with mild disgust. Or at least, if it had been enchanted, she couldn't detect the enchantment ... which wasn't saying much; she only dabbled with magic, and that, only when it was needful, which it rarely was. The blade had been demonic in origin, though, that much she knew for certain. More than that, it had pierced her very heart. Normal elves, she was sure, would have died instantly.
Not her. She got to live out long, torturous minutes. At least she didn't have to breathe. She expected that the constant up and down would have torn her chest open even further.
She remembered she was standing on a platform, atop the tallest structure she'd ever seen apart from White-Gold Tower in the Imperial City. She held her pack in one hand, dragging it along the ground behind her. Even enchanted to seem weightless, the thing was ungainly, and often threw her off-balance. She suspected given its natural weight, it wouldn't throw her off as much - but then she'd be hard-pressed to lift it, even with her unnatural strength.
If she'd been wearing it, she wouldn't be dying now, though.
In front of her, floating in a glowing orb of light, was a block, like a hovering, six-sided die.
She held the block up to the first lights of predawn, staring at it with vision that blurred around the edges. It was etched with runes in a language she couldn't begin to make out, but then, she sometimes had a little trouble with plain Tamrielic letters.
Before long, it was too much work to hold the block up, so she set it down on her chest. It was immediately washed in crimson. She was a sticky mess with blood, her clothing ruined, her skin stained.
The demon, clad in full plate, was determined to take his killer with him. She'd thought him dead, but no - here he stood, behind her. She was exhausted by the climb, exhausted by the fight every single demonic sentinel had put up, exhausted by the very land outside this tower turning against her (who ever heard of plants tangling around legs and arms like living things?), and exhausted from the siege before. She hadn't checked to see if he was just playing dead. She hadn't heard him get up, hadn't heard the scraping of a sword drug against stone for the ringing that fought to become a dull roar in her ears.
She'd barely felt it when the sword punctured her chest from behind. There was a flash of something, behind her eyes, and she looked down to see almost two feet of greatsword sticking out of her. The demon had pulled his blade free effortlessly, and she fell forward, catching the stone with her free hand as she fell.
The world disintegrated around her, vanishing before she hit the ground.
Lyssi turned her head slightly to the side. She was lying flat on her back, now, staring at the shattered base of one of the pillars that had formed the massive Oblivion Gate. Apparently, the block was the keystone on which the portal was built, and with it gone, the portal couldn't stand anymore. It made sense to her, in the way anything magical made sense to her: she didn't think about it terribly much.
Right now, she couldn't think of anything terribly much.
But she'd done something. Something important, something good. There were things left to do, but there would always be things to do.
It was all right. She could rest, now.
She never saw the man's form standing over her.
In the early light of predawn, there was a sound that was not unlike a massive gong being rung - or at least, that was how Brother Martin had perceived it. No two refugees heard it the same, though everyone could agree on what came next. A roar, like a massive, angry, dying beast sounded from the south.
From the Oblivion Gate.
A young boy had found the way up to the high tower the chapel sported. Half-ruined, and long unused, no one else dared go up. Now, he did, and he reported the Gate's fall on his return. The Daedra, the boy said, were drawn to it, though only a few remained in the city anyway.
Here then was their diversion. The refugees took only what they needed. Those who could walk assisted those who could not, leaving only those who would not recover even with magical healing, and the bodies of the dead. Maybe they could return one day. Brother Martin prayed it would be one day soon.
The Nine showed him a miracle this day, guarding the refugees as they escaped through a lesser gate. He'd been overly optimistic - in total, it was thirty-seven people who managed to survive and escape, even counting Martin and the two Blades themselves, but that was thirty-seven lives the Nine had spared. They kept quiet, and there was no quarreling. Speed was of the essence, and they made good time out of the city.
Everyone knew that a raised voice here courted vivisection by a daedra - if they were lucky. Almost no one spoke, and when they did, it came in hushed whispers.
The Nine granted him a second miracle on top of the first. Outside the walls of Kvatch, the refugees found a camp of other survivors set up near the main road. Wives clung to their husbands, children to their parents. People mourned - even those few whose families remained mostly intact mourned at least one friend or distant relative. There were more dead than alive - but almost half of Kvatch had survived, it seemed. The nobility had holed up in the castle, so hope sprung from that corner, as well.
Everywhere he turned, he heard whispers about a Hero - or Heroine - of Kvatch, some solitary figure they found in the rubble where the gate had once stood. No one, it seemed, knew where exactly she was, nor how she fared - and Martin was very confident it was a she.
Finally, a guard approached him after sundown. He wore the haggard look of someone who had seen too much fighting these last few days. "I'm to understand you led these people out of the city, Brother Martin?"
Martin nodded quietly, so the man continued. "They tell me you're a healer, and a good one at that, is that true?" Another nod. He was tired, but he had enough magic left to put at least one or two more people to rights before he collapsed outright, anyway. Martin glanced back at Ariel, who stood at his right - the Nord at his left was unreadable, but the woman eyed the guardsman warily. "Forgive my manners - I'm Savlian Matius, acting guard captain."
"Then you'd be the one who held the road against the Daedra for two days straight?" Martin asked, inspecting the man. Still armored, he showed signs of exhaustion, but he wasn't badly injured yet, anyway.
The man - Savlian - nodded. "My men helped, of course. They're good, strong people. I ... also discovered the girl." At this, Martin felt himself perk up considerably. Finally. Ariel's firm hand on his shoulder restrained his eagerness. "Ah ... I see you've heard of our Heroine, then. She's in rough shape. I don't know enough about medicine to know if she can be saved, in all honesty." Savlian reached up, rubbing the back of his head. "And she's ... unusual."
"May I see to her?" Martin asked, keeping himself in check. There might, after all, be nothing he could do.
The guardsman smiled. "Of course."
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Two Strange Things
One: I poked in to check my emails (like I do about once every couple of days) on Yahoo (today, Tuesday, July 12, 2011), to have this charming instant message from a name I've never seen before.
From: charmaineimperioyhzx
Message: fade ffffffm8xc gHaut eW 6kN9o 9WWW.X1U.EUm
What. The. Fuck? I had an email a while back that I probably should've deleted straight up, as well, just spam but written in the ... most interesting of fashions. I can't find it anymore, anyway.
Probably reading too much into this but seriously, what the hell? Straight advertisement would read ... well, at all. I can't make heads nor tails of that. There didn't appear to be any attachments either ... feck, I dunno.
Oh, and the second one, which amused me greatly - the fanfiction piece I hammered out in about 45 minutes after finishing Fable II still gets more love than the epic I've been toying with off and on about Oblivion for literally years. Someone replied to each and every chapter with a response - we're talking one paragraph, maybe two or even a whole page per chapter, and the responses often as long as the chapters themselves.
I guess I'm just happy people like some of the things I write.
From: charmaineimperioyhzx
Message: fade ffffffm8xc gHaut eW 6kN9o 9WWW.X1U.EUm
What. The. Fuck? I had an email a while back that I probably should've deleted straight up, as well, just spam but written in the ... most interesting of fashions. I can't find it anymore, anyway.
Probably reading too much into this but seriously, what the hell? Straight advertisement would read ... well, at all. I can't make heads nor tails of that. There didn't appear to be any attachments either ... feck, I dunno.
Oh, and the second one, which amused me greatly - the fanfiction piece I hammered out in about 45 minutes after finishing Fable II still gets more love than the epic I've been toying with off and on about Oblivion for literally years. Someone replied to each and every chapter with a response - we're talking one paragraph, maybe two or even a whole page per chapter, and the responses often as long as the chapters themselves.
I guess I'm just happy people like some of the things I write.
Friday, April 15, 2011
On Oblivion
Nobody Important: Listener
Chapter 21: A Gate to Oblivion
The Oblivion Gate was massive, standing even taller than the walls around it.
It towered where the entrance to Kvatch used to be, a doorway into Oblivion itself, swirling with ominous, reddish light and scribed with runes of power. What Lyssi could make out of the land beyond it didn't really look habitable. If there was any way to avoid walking into the depths of Hell itself, she would have taken it.
She didn't have much choice though.
As it stood, she had a list of goals and a time limit.
She had to get out of the city to make her way to Anvil. That was where the next Dead Drop would be, that was where she'd intercept the traitor. She'd catch him red-handed, and then kill him. That took precedence, was what made the other goals so pressing: she just didn't have time for an apocalypse.
In order to get out of the city, she needed to bring down this Gate. Once the Gate was down, Martin Septim could go with his Blades, and the fate of the Empire would rest in their capable hands, not hers. The less the heir had to interact with a murderer like her, the better for everyone.
His blood had been so rich, so powerful.
She knew she couldn't resist it, even if she hadn't been starved and injured.
Next time she might not be able to stop at just a taste.
Taking in a breath she didn't really need, she reached out to hold her hand in the center of the swirling vortex.
There came a sick, wrenching sensation.
And then … nothing.
Chapter 21: A Gate to Oblivion
The Oblivion Gate was massive, standing even taller than the walls around it.
It towered where the entrance to Kvatch used to be, a doorway into Oblivion itself, swirling with ominous, reddish light and scribed with runes of power. What Lyssi could make out of the land beyond it didn't really look habitable. If there was any way to avoid walking into the depths of Hell itself, she would have taken it.
She didn't have much choice though.
As it stood, she had a list of goals and a time limit.
She had to get out of the city to make her way to Anvil. That was where the next Dead Drop would be, that was where she'd intercept the traitor. She'd catch him red-handed, and then kill him. That took precedence, was what made the other goals so pressing: she just didn't have time for an apocalypse.
In order to get out of the city, she needed to bring down this Gate. Once the Gate was down, Martin Septim could go with his Blades, and the fate of the Empire would rest in their capable hands, not hers. The less the heir had to interact with a murderer like her, the better for everyone.
His blood had been so rich, so powerful.
She knew she couldn't resist it, even if she hadn't been starved and injured.
Next time she might not be able to stop at just a taste.
Taking in a breath she didn't really need, she reached out to hold her hand in the center of the swirling vortex.
There came a sick, wrenching sensation.
And then … nothing.
Friday, April 8, 2011
So Many Thoughts (freewrite)
Tiny text is tiny. Whoops.
Oh, and I had a Slender Man dream so that's awesome too.
WTF.
Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.8
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Who Am I?
Back in the game again, and the game is so very, very pretty now.
3:27 PM 1/29/11
The sun is so bright it hurts my eyes. I feel like I've made some kind of momentous, world-shaking decision just now ... if only I could remember what it was. Ah, well.
3:35 - I'm awful tired - since the closest civilization is the Imperial City, I guess I have to hope the guards won't recognize me. What did I even do to get arrested?
3:50 - Eugh, it's raining.
4:18 - Joking around with the guards is probably a good way to get locked up again, but it really seems like nobody else knows who I am, either.
4:23 - I meant to take a nap, but apparently instead I fell into a coma that lasted until morning. Ah, well.
4:32 - It's like I didn't even exist before I woke up in that cell. By Azura ... am I even real? "Perhaps the Gods have placed you here so that we may meet." Chilling, old man.
4:42 - I have memories of being a spellcaster - I remember how to use several spells, and I know what many more of them do. Maybe someone at the Arcane University will remember me? It's all I have to go on.
5:13 - Spoke to a woman named Bothiel. Have problems telling Bosmer from Altmer half the time. Bah. She handed me a list and said it was most urgent that the items on it be collected. Apparently some kind of bandits attacked the Orrery. Maybe I'll help out. I'm pretty sure Bothiel doesn't like me. Well, I don't like her either.
5:23 - Have decided to look up my own status in the Mage's Guild. I have to have learned it all somewhere, right? Starting with Bruma. Somebody has to know who I am.
3:27 PM 1/29/11
The sun is so bright it hurts my eyes. I feel like I've made some kind of momentous, world-shaking decision just now ... if only I could remember what it was. Ah, well.
3:35 - I'm awful tired - since the closest civilization is the Imperial City, I guess I have to hope the guards won't recognize me. What did I even do to get arrested?
3:50 - Eugh, it's raining.
4:18 - Joking around with the guards is probably a good way to get locked up again, but it really seems like nobody else knows who I am, either.
4:23 - I meant to take a nap, but apparently instead I fell into a coma that lasted until morning. Ah, well.
4:32 - It's like I didn't even exist before I woke up in that cell. By Azura ... am I even real? "Perhaps the Gods have placed you here so that we may meet." Chilling, old man.
4:42 - I have memories of being a spellcaster - I remember how to use several spells, and I know what many more of them do. Maybe someone at the Arcane University will remember me? It's all I have to go on.
5:13 - Spoke to a woman named Bothiel. Have problems telling Bosmer from Altmer half the time. Bah. She handed me a list and said it was most urgent that the items on it be collected. Apparently some kind of bandits attacked the Orrery. Maybe I'll help out. I'm pretty sure Bothiel doesn't like me. Well, I don't like her either.
5:23 - Have decided to look up my own status in the Mage's Guild. I have to have learned it all somewhere, right? Starting with Bruma. Somebody has to know who I am.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
$15 Social Life
So, let's play some Elder Scrolls. I haven't done that in a while, and TES5 has been announced. Glee and joy, Skyrim!
I'm playing The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion. It's kind of my favorite, partially since I got introduced to Morrowind after Oblivion's release and the graphics did not age well. My $15/month goes to playing WoW as a glorified chat room, while in the foreground the character creation screen boots up. Ah, Oblivion, how I've missed you.
12:03 PM 1/29/11
Behold: in darkness, a doom sweeps the land ...
12:04 - You know, this game's facial graphics haven't really aged well, but the rest of it is still beautiful.
12:05 - Dunmer for min-maxing, or Bosmer for looks. HM.
12:09 - This persistent "staring at the sky" thing is seriously starting to bug me. Given my plans for a Dunmer to be the new Madgod, sure. She can be a space cadet.
12:16 - She looks dull, and a bit sad.
12:19 - Aha! Almost fixed the sky-staring thing. De-de-de. Looks more severe now. Blah. Sliders.
12:24 - I wake up in a corner of a cold, dark, cell. My head hurts like it's been kicked in by an entire herd of horses. I don't even remember who I am. Where am I? Why am I here? By Azura ... everything hurts. I can hear something in the distance ...?
12:34 - 'scuse me, playing with the skin color now. I made a goth! And she has a name. Amelie.
12:42 - Now what? There's a Dunmer in the other cell ... gah, I'm so confused. All this talk of destiny ... can that man have really been the Emperor? They left the secret passage open behind them. Since my options are "follow" and "Rot down here forever," I guess I'll choose "follow."
12:47 - There's no way this can end badly.
12:53 - I must have been some kind of badass before getting locked down here. I've got skills I'm pretty sure a simple commoner shouldn't. Lockpicking, swordplay, spellcasting ... I found some heavy iron armor, and it just felt right to put it on.
12:59 - My stomach is growling ... looks like grilled rat is what's for dinner.
1:03 - Regretting using fireball as a torch: vicious, murderous rats everywhere.
1:14 - Why would the goblins be standing at the bottom of a log trap? They're all greenish ... and crushed. Wonder if any of the loot is usable. (Answer: No.)
1:23 - I feel like an invisible hand is guiding me sometimes, sure. But the Nine Divines? I don't know if I believe in your human religion, buddy. Meh. Trying to remember if my birthsign was Thief or Warrior. I'm not feeling especially lucky, but maybe we'll turn that around, yeah?
1:40 - I've got a real torch now. Hooray.
1:41 - IT'S A TRAP.
1:45 - But I liked Captain Renault's sword. I guess I get to run an errand for the Empire. I do feel a bit guilty, letting the Emperor die, if I'm such a badass.
1:58 - Trying to improve graphics. Oblivion has stopped working. Dammit. Fucking crashes.
2:29 - Research online suggests SaveINI from the console. Hooray! Of course, there's no way to open the console with Vista or later as your OS ... Spell of Open The Damn Console, 'kgo.
I'm playing The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion. It's kind of my favorite, partially since I got introduced to Morrowind after Oblivion's release and the graphics did not age well. My $15/month goes to playing WoW as a glorified chat room, while in the foreground the character creation screen boots up. Ah, Oblivion, how I've missed you.
12:03 PM 1/29/11
Behold: in darkness, a doom sweeps the land ...
12:04 - You know, this game's facial graphics haven't really aged well, but the rest of it is still beautiful.
12:05 - Dunmer for min-maxing, or Bosmer for looks. HM.
12:09 - This persistent "staring at the sky" thing is seriously starting to bug me. Given my plans for a Dunmer to be the new Madgod, sure. She can be a space cadet.
12:16 - She looks dull, and a bit sad.
12:19 - Aha! Almost fixed the sky-staring thing. De-de-de. Looks more severe now. Blah. Sliders.
12:24 - I wake up in a corner of a cold, dark, cell. My head hurts like it's been kicked in by an entire herd of horses. I don't even remember who I am. Where am I? Why am I here? By Azura ... everything hurts. I can hear something in the distance ...?
12:34 - 'scuse me, playing with the skin color now. I made a goth! And she has a name. Amelie.
12:42 - Now what? There's a Dunmer in the other cell ... gah, I'm so confused. All this talk of destiny ... can that man have really been the Emperor? They left the secret passage open behind them. Since my options are "follow" and "Rot down here forever," I guess I'll choose "follow."
12:47 - There's no way this can end badly.
12:53 - I must have been some kind of badass before getting locked down here. I've got skills I'm pretty sure a simple commoner shouldn't. Lockpicking, swordplay, spellcasting ... I found some heavy iron armor, and it just felt right to put it on.
12:59 - My stomach is growling ... looks like grilled rat is what's for dinner.
1:03 - Regretting using fireball as a torch: vicious, murderous rats everywhere.
1:14 - Why would the goblins be standing at the bottom of a log trap? They're all greenish ... and crushed. Wonder if any of the loot is usable. (Answer: No.)
1:23 - I feel like an invisible hand is guiding me sometimes, sure. But the Nine Divines? I don't know if I believe in your human religion, buddy. Meh. Trying to remember if my birthsign was Thief or Warrior. I'm not feeling especially lucky, but maybe we'll turn that around, yeah?
1:40 - I've got a real torch now. Hooray.
1:41 - IT'S A TRAP.
1:45 - But I liked Captain Renault's sword. I guess I get to run an errand for the Empire. I do feel a bit guilty, letting the Emperor die, if I'm such a badass.
1:58 - Trying to improve graphics. Oblivion has stopped working. Dammit. Fucking crashes.
2:29 - Research online suggests SaveINI from the console. Hooray! Of course, there's no way to open the console with Vista or later as your OS ... Spell of Open The Damn Console, 'kgo.
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