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Post by DarkNova50 on Sept 19, 2009 8:06:29 GMT
Back, by semi-popular demand...it's the half baked adventures of Nathan and his merry band of misfits!
Most of these chapters are already over a year old, and I've got 15 of them at this point...so no need to fret about the well drying up anytime soon.
But enough rambling. Enjoy.
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Chapter 1:Renewal Hello Darkness, my old friend...
“Well, I’m afraid that the nearest town is Dagon Fel, a fair distance to the east, stranger,” the Dunmer barkeep explained casually, his single eye focusing on the quartet as he cleaned out a large glass mug. “That is, assuming you ain’t fancy on swimming all the way to Khuul, of course,” he added with a bit of a grin, before setting the mug down on the table. “Now, what will you and your friends have?”
Nathan ran a single hand through his messy, dark red hair, his green eyes falling nervously on the Dunmer. “Well, see, the thing about that – and you’re gonna laugh when you hear this - is that we don’t really have any money, per say,” the Imperial explained anxiously. In honesty, one could see it was the truth from the condition of the group’s apparel; they were entirely without weapons, and their clothes resembled tattered rags more than something somebody would actually wear. The Imperial gave a nervous smile.
“Well, in that case,” the Dunmer began, glaring at the group. “The talk is free.” The barkeep straightened his back, a slight pop resulting from the action. “But the booze ain’t,” he continued, picking up the mug. And with that, he headed for the other side of the counter, towards another group of patrons.
“Shit,” Nathan cursed bitterly, before turning around and heading for a small nearby table. “I could’ve really gone for a brandy right about now.” The large underground tavern, named ’Ye Olde Redaynia: Bar and Grill’, was poorly illuminated, a few judiciously placed torches and candles providing the only light by which to see. The dark wood panelling and adjoining rooms only accentuated the rural feel of the place, and gave the Imperial a sense that he was in a massive log cabin. He sat down at the table, and the others in his group joined him.
“Well, isn’t that just swell,” Alderin whined in the seat opposite Nathan’s, scowling. The Altmer’s bright blonde mane rested on the shoulders of his tattered, dark blue robe, giving him the distinctive look of a mage. Then again, looks could be deceiving... “Looks like Captain Ahab here took us right into the middle of no-man’s-land,” he growled, gesturing at the man next to him before glared up at the ceiling, shaking his head bitterly. “Navigation skills of a brick, I tell you.”
“Hey, I thought I did pretty damn well,” Bruno countered, crossing his arms firmly over his chest. The massive, brutish Nord leaned back in his seat, filthy strands of grimy blonde hair dangling at his shoulders. “After all, that crappy boat was taking on water, and this was the closest place to land.” He looked out into space methodically as he reached into his jacked for a bottle of mead. “Damn thing is probably halfway to the bottom of the Sea of Hosts by now,” he surmised.
“It’s Ghosts, you country fried lummox,” Alderin cursed, glaring at the Nord angrily. “It’s Sea of Ghosts. How can you not know that? Weren’t you a captain of some ill-fated ship!?”
Netta watched the two men bicker for a moment, a slight grin of amusement playing on her features. Like the rest of the group, the Dunmer was quite youthful, with a few small clusters of freckles on her cheeks. Her delicate face was lined by shoulder length brown hair, the tips of her pointed ears barely peeking out from its silky surface. She turned from the Nord and Altmer to Nathan, who leaned forward on the table, exasperated. “What’s wrong, Nathan?” she asked, her voice genuinely concerned. “You alright?”
“It’s just hard to believe that after all we went through,” Nathan began, shaking his head. “After all the battles, making our way to Solstheim, and finally beating the bad guy, we ended up with jack shit.” The Imperial let out a lazy sigh. “What a colossal waste of time.”
“C’mon, Nathan!” Netta replied, reaching over and patting the young man tenderly on the shoulder. “It’s not all bad, after all. You just need to look at the bright side!”
Bruno nodded adamantly in agreement, sitting to the Imperial’s right. “She’s got a point, boss. You just need to-“ The Nord stopped midsentence, before looking quizzically to Netta. “Wait, there’s a bright side to all this?”
“Of course!” Netta maintained, her face lighting up and her voice chipper. “Nathan, just think of all the new things you saw in Morrowind!” she argued.
“Netta, I was nearly mauled to death by a damn Cliffracer,” the Imperial grumbled. “I could’ve been just as easily mauled by a wolf back home, and then I probably wouldn’t have caught the blight!”
“Well, how about all the interesting experiences we’ve had?” the Dunmer asked smugly, looking between the others in the group. “You can’t deny that we’ve had some good times.”
“You mean like when Beauchamp’s crappy airship exploded, nearly consuming us in a fiery maelstrom of magicka and shrapnel?” Bruno asked, vividly recalling the memory.
Netta paused for a moment. “Alright, granted. But what about all the neat people we’ve met on this adventure!?” she cried out, insistent.
“Oh yeah, real neat,” Alderin growled angrily. “Psychopathic villagers, deranged cultists, inept ship captains and a certain claymore wielding head case with a tower fetish.” The Altmer shook his head disapprovingly. “Neat, huh?”
Netta simply rolled her eyes, leaning back in her seat. “If the three of you are only going to focus on the negatives, then I really can’t help you,” she explained.
Nathan gave a slight sigh of exasperation in response, before feeling a slight tap on his shoulder. He looked up – well, not quite up, exactly – to see a Bosmer, with slicked black hair, and a rather irritated expression on his face, standing behind him. “You stinkin’ mendeho!” the Wood Elf cried out, his eyes narrowing as a few of his kin formed up behind him. “This is our table, cabrone.”
“Uh, right...” Nathan simply replied, sceptical. However, he wasn’t exactly in the mood to get into an argument with a bunch of Bosmer. “We’ll just be going, then,” he explained, beginning to get up out of his seat.
“Hold it, Nathan,” Alderin interjected, before standing up from his own seat, and glaring at the Bosmer. “Listen up, Wood Elf,” Alderin snarled, disgust and contempt in his voice. “We were sitting here first, and we’ll leave when we’re good and ready!” He tilted his head to the side. “We clear, cabrone?”
Nathan glanced anxiously at the Altmer, eyes narrowing slightly. “Alderin...simmer down...” he advised cautiously.
“Who the hell you think you talkin’ to man!?” the Bosmer hollered angrily, quickly unsheathing a small glass dagger. “You either give us the table, or we cut you up, ass hole!”
“Alderin,” Netta began, getting up from her seat and looking at the Altmer. “Maybe we should just give them the-“
Alderin pointed an enraged finger at the Bosmer, eyes bulging with malice. “What are ya gonna do? Call your pet mudcrab, ya tree huggin’ anarchist?” The High Elf slammed his fists on the table. “You ain’t got the balls to do shit!”
The remainder of the Bosmer group quickly unsheathed their own daggers, and the leader‘s eyes exploded with rage. “Oh, that does it! You dead, cabrone! You dead!” He looked over at one of the adjoining rooms, and called out in its direction. “Hey Fargoth! Get your ass out here, man!”
A solitary Bosmer shot out from the room, his eyes deranged. The Elf looked quite old, his skin pale, wrinkled and leathery. His eyes were frantic, as he turned to Nathan and the others, hunched over and moving about in a twitchy manner. “Did...did they take the precious?” he asked, curious.
The lead Bosmer simply rolled his eyes, annoyed. “Sure, Fargoth, they stole your crappy ass ring,” he falsely assured, waving his hand dismissively. “Now just get to it, will ya?”
The psychotic Bosmer looked to Nathan’s group, his eyes morphing from frantic to hateful. “They – took – my – PRECIOUS!!![/b]” he screamed, bearing his teeth. He dashed desperately at them, hands extended before him.
Bruno, always the calm one of the group, quickly bounded up from his seat, and lifted the sturdy wooden chair over his head. As the deranged Bosmer lunged at the group, the massive Nord hurled the furniture at him, catching him square in the face. The Wood Elf went sprawling back, crashing to the ground with a loud thud before skidding across the floor. The establishment’s remaining patrons looked over in curiosity, watching the scene with distinctive interest.
“Tactical withdrawal, men!” Nathan bellered at his comrades, shoving one of the nearby Bosmer to the ground. He quickly darted for the stairs that would lead them topside, with the others closely following.
The group of Bosmer furiously reorganized, and filed up the stairs in pursuit of their newfound opponents. The one eyed Dunmer barkeep looked up the stairs as they ran, shaking his fist angrily. “You’re paying for that, you cocksuckers!” he roared, his eye bulging.
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The Sheogorad region of Vvardenfell happened to be quite foggy that day; a thick blanket of dark gray mist enveloped the area, preventing the group from seeing anything more than a few feet ahead of them. The sky shared a similar motif, the sun blocked out by heavy storm clouds, the threat of rain nearly upon them.
“I think we lost em’,” Bruno reported, pausing his retreat for a moment. The others stopped their movement temporarily as the Nord looked carefully behind them, attempting to see through the fog. “At least, I think we lost em’...”
“Dammit Alderin,” Nathan growled, turning to the Altmer and jabbing an irritated finger into his chest. “Why is it that whenever you’re around, seemingly ordinary people turn homicidal and try to kill us?”
The Altmer regarded the Imperial with annoyance, before pointing an accusing finger of his own. “Nathan, they were Bosmer,” the Altmer explained rather matter-of-factly. “Primitive, half-brained Neanderthals, who claim to be Elves, of one sort or another. They’re basically the lowest rating sentient species on Nirn, right below Orcs and right above Nords. If we start letting them have their way, then who knows where it’ll lead. There’ll be no stopping them!” Alderin narrowed his eyes purposely. “And that’s not something I want to see happen.”
Nathan stared at the Altmer in surprise, shocked at the overwhelming prejudice and stupidity of his argument. Well, maybe not shocked, but nevertheless taken off guard. Netta, meanwhile, looked around behind him, apparently searching for some indication of their present whereabouts. “Um, guys?” she began, concerned. “Does anybody know where we are?”
Nathan and Alderin quickly realized the nature of their predicament, and began in a frantic search as well. Due to the sheer thickness of the fog, however, they were unable to see anything outside of the rest of their group. “Alright, don’t panic,” Nathan began, trying to keep the others calm. “All we need to do is go east...” He looked up at the sky, only to have the clouds deny sight of the sun.
“Uh oh,” Bruno muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. “I think we might have a problem...”
“Dammit all!” Alderin roared, stamping his feet. “I should’ve known something like this would happen!” He looked pleadingly at Nathan, hands outstretched. “Now what the hell are we gonna do?”
“I believe that I may have a suggestion...” a voice muttered from the cover of the fog. Nathan and the others quickly turned to see a figure, shrouded in a black robe, slowly emerge out of the fog, silently walking towards them. He stopped a few feet from them, and pulled back his hood, revealing the face of a young man with loose brown hair, his skin pale. “It is a rather splendid idea, involving the death of four rather irritating pests...” he added with a slight smile.
“Yeah, irritating people get on my nerves,” Bruno replied, nodding his head for a moment. He paused abruptly, however, and arched an eyebrow in curiosity. “Wait, you’re talking about us, aren’t you?” he asked the figure, unsure. The man slapped his palm against his face, slowly dragging it down his features in frustration.
“Alright, I feel inclined to ask, here,” Nathan began, rolling his eyes. “Who the hell are you, and what exactly do you want? Because if you’re just another random crapper-jack-nobody here to pull off some half-baked stunt designed to kill us, we really have better things to do.”
The stranger shook his head in disbelief, chuckling. “You arrogant fools,” he began, before a grin formed on his face. “I, am Estevan Lachance, of the Dark Brotherhood,” he explained. “Illegitimate grandson of the great Lucien Lachance!” He produced a small ebony dagger from his robe, placing it in his right hand, and began his approach anew.
Alderin’s eyes bulged in horror as he and the others slowly backed away, unarmed and at quite a disadvantage. “The...Dark Brotherhood?” he asked, his tone wavering with fear. “As in the Dark Brotherhood? The one that goes around killing people?”
“No, Alderin,” Nathan growled sarcastically, his tone relatively calm, given the situation. “I’m sure he’s part of the other Dark Brotherhood. You know, the one that goes around selling cookies!”
“Damn, I could go for some cookies right now,” Netta remarked, rubbing her stomach as she backed away with the others. “I’m starving.”
“Shut the [censored] up!” Estevan roared in anger and disbelief. “Dammit, now I see why the Night Mother has ordered your destruction,” he growled, raising his dagger. “And I am more than happy to oblige her.”
On the road again...again.
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Post by Vicorva on Sept 19, 2009 8:43:30 GMT
Hehehehe.
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Post by DarkNova50 on Sept 19, 2009 18:46:02 GMT
Enjoying ourselves, are we, IN?
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Chapter 2: Guar in the Mist Ode to joy...
“Hold up, you slick shit bastard!” Nathan roared, his hands clenching as he glared at the assassin. “Killing us would be a really, really bad idea. See, we’ve got some friends in some pretty high up places,” he explained, searching for anything he could use to keep them alive. “Maybe you’ve heard of Divayth Fyr? Or Olothan? Or a certain Daedric Prince of Madness?” Nathan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You don’t even wanna [censored] with those Mac Daddies.” Estevan chuckled under his breath, bemused. “Please. How uninformed do you think I am?” he asked, shaking his head. “Sheogorath is powerless in this realm, and young Alderin’s father is quite ignorant as to the true strength of the Brotherhood.” The Brotherhood lackey tightly grasped his dagger, raising it in front of him. “No, killing the four of you will not be a problem.”
“Dammit,” Nathan cursed sourly, gritting his teeth anxiously. “So much for that plan.” He looked hopefully to the others. “Anybody else got an idea?”
Netta looked back at the Imperial, her eyes unafraid. “Not unless Alderin crapping himself counts as a plan,” she replied, shaking her head. “And frankly, that’s never worked for us in the past.”
Alderin glared at the Dunmer, his eyes bulging with frantic desperation. “Well of course I’m crapping myself, you stupid Dunmer floozy!” he screamed hysterically, his hands working nervously before him. “He’s gonna kill us!”
“Just calm down Alderin!” Nathan growled at the Elf, his brow furrowed. “We’re gonna be fine. All we need to do is stay calm, think this through intelligently, and-“
Nathan was cut off by a deep, rumbling roar that seemed to come from all around him. When he looked back, he realized that had in fact been Bruno, the massive Nord charging angrily and with surprising speed at Estevan. The comparatively puny man tried to use his dagger to ward off the Nord, but instead was struck in the face by a muscular forearm, and sent sprawling back on the ground.
Nathan saw their opportunity, and wasn’t about to let it pass them by. “Alderin!” he roared to the Elf, without even bothering to look around. “Use magic! Now!”
Still frantic, and caught off guard by the sudden change of fortune of the group, Alderin rushed to prepare a spell, any spell, that could be used against their opponent. Not exactly aware of which effect he was casting, Alderin thrust his hands out before him, and a small sphere of blue light raced towards Estevan, impacting square in the-
“Right in the balls!” the assassin screamed in pain, writhing on the ground as his groin was hit by the frost spell. Bruno looked down at the man as he howled in anguish, dropping his dagger to the ground next to him.
“All right!” Nathan exclaimed, looking over at Netta with a determined look. The young Dunmer noted his expression, and nodded in understanding. Together, the Imperial and the Dark Elf raced to Estevan’s position, cutting through the dense fog. Once they were in range, the two of them as if in unison, raised their feet up behind them, took aim, and kicked the would-be killer, directly in his wounded area. There was a sharp glass-like crack as their assault hit the deranged Lachance.
Bruno arched a suspicious eyebrow at the sound, confused. “That didn’t sound quite right,” he pointed out, looking down at the man. Estevan was perfectly still, not even breathing, his face caught in a perpetual silent scream.
“Alderin, what the hell did you do?” Nathan asked as he and Netta each hopped on one foot, the ones they had used suspended a few centimetres from the ground in pain. Alderin quickly approached the others from his position, his face curious.
“No kidding!” Netta cried out, shaking her head as she reached down to her wounded foot. “I mean, I’ve heard of ‘balls of steel’, but this is too much!”
Alderin looked down at the seemingly dead Lachance, intrigued. “That frost spell must have frozen his...uh, you know, solid,” he surmised, crossing his arms over his chest. “And then, given the force that you and Netta kicked him with, it must have shatt-“
“Stop!” Nathan howled desperately, his face contorted in disgust. “That is just too damn horrific to even think about!”
Bruno shook his head dismally as he looked down at the defeated man. “I know that he was trying to kill us and all, but poor bastard,” he remarked, shifting his legs uncomfortably.
The quartet’s rather...unique, conversation was cut short as the sound of something approaching from the fog hit their ears. Determined not to be caught off guard again, Nathan and Bruno readied their fists as Alderin prepared to cast spells, if necessary. Netta quickly salvaged Estevan’s dagger, and held it at the ready, as a silhouette, one that could not possibly be humanoid, approached.
A large, armoured Guar, wearing a thick black vest over a chainmail mesh emerged from the thick gray veil, and looked curiously between the foursome. A large steel claymore, a dagger, rations and water could be seen secured to the vest, available to the Guar should it need them. Nathan and the others were quick to drop their guard at the sight of the creature.
“It’s just a damn Guar,” Alderin growled, lowering his hands as he looked over at Nathan. “And here I was, perfectly ready to get my groove on!”
Nathan irritably rolled his eyes as Netta slowly approached the animal, hand outstretched. “Well hey there, little guy,” she said affectionately, patting the beast on the head as it looked directly at her. “Where’d you come from?”
The Guar tilted its head to the side. “Well, if you must know,” it began, its voice masculine. “I came to help the four of you fight of the Dark Brotherhood assassin.” He looked over at the defeated corpse. “But, I see you did just fine without me.”
Netta nervously jumped back as the others looked quizzically at the Guar, unsure. Nathan took a slight step forward, squinting one eye. “Rollie? That you?” he asked.
“No, no I’m not Rollie,” the Guar explained simply, shaking its head slightly. “Although, I can understand why you think I look like him.”
Alderin arched a solitary eyebrow. “Because you’re both Guars, and you all look exactly the same?” he inquired.
“No,” the Guar shot back smugly. “Because I’m Rollie’s older brother, Rockie.” He looked back at Nathan. “It’s the face: it’s a family thing.”
“Uh, right,” Nathan responded, almost entirely unconvinced. “Where the hell did you come from, anyway? Who sent you?”
The Guar looked around, seemingly slightly nervous. “Well, I think that maybe we should do this someplace else,” he explained. “I wouldn’t be surprised if more Brotherhood agents were in the area. If you’ll just follow me back to base, I’ll answer all your questions.”
Nathan pursed his lips slightly. As much as the sight of a big talking Guar disturbed him, the idea of more Brotherhood assassins raining down on them was more unappealing. “Alright then, Rockie,” he replied, nodding. “Let’s move out, shall we?” The Guar nodded approvingly, before turning around and heading the direction he’d come from. The quartet cautiously followed, quite unsure of where they were going.
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“We have got to almost be there by now,” Alderin groaned miserably, as he and the others slogged along behind their Guar guide, utterly dependant on him for direction. “I think my shoes are filling with my own blood!”
“As opposed to somebody else’s blood?” Netta asked, looking over at the Altmer with interest. He simply grit his teeth angrily in response.
“Shove a sock in it, Alderin,” Nathan grumbled in reply, scowling at the Altmer. “You haven’t been walking any longer than the rest of us, and you don’t hear any of us complaining about how [censored] long it’s taking!” His eyes narrowed intently on the Elf. “So just shut the hell up!”
“Please, my friends, stay calm,” Rockie insisted ahead of them, confidently. “We are nearly there, I assure you.”
Bruno casually straightened his back, revealing his rather intimidating stature, before addressing the others. “Hey, you guys have any idea why that guy back there attacked us?” the Nord asked his fellows, curious.
“Beats the crap outta me,” Nathan admitted with a slight shrug, unsure of what the Brotherhood’s problem with them was. He looked ahead at Rockie. “Hey, you have any ideas?” he asked.
The Guar didn’t stop, or even slow its pace. It merely turned its head around, so one of its eyes was on the quartet. “I’m afraid that you’ve attracted the attention of the Brotherhood, comrades,” he explained to them, his tone sombre. “They’ve taken notice of your abilities, and now they want to see you dead.”
“Well, isn’t that just great,” Alderin growled pessimistically, shaking his head. “Not only was our little trip a bust, but now we’ve got a professional assassin’s guild crawling up our collective ass? That just beats all!”
“Hold it a second,” Netta demanded, stopping on the path they were on. Rockie and the others did the same, and turned to face her as she articulated herself. “How’d they find out about us in the first place?” she asked, quite unsure. “And second, what do they care? We never did anything to them.”
Rockie’s gaze hit the ground beneath them. “I’m afraid that you don’t understand what the Dark Brotherhood has become,” he surmised. “Fifty years ago, it was a simple guild of outlaws. Now, though, they’ve become a major power throughout Tamriel,” he explained. “Their numbers have bulged into the thousands, and their bases span the continent. There are covert operatives everywhere; in other guilds, in the government, and some just acting like regular people. They’re not just interested in murder anymore.”
“Well, that explains how,” Nathan replied, nodding his head in understanding. “But there’s still the question of why the hell they give a crap? I mean, who are we? Just a poorly organized, misguided group of people,” he explained.
“A group with a reputation,” Rockie pointed out. “People have been noticing what you four have been up to. Fighting the Mythic Dawn, meeting with well known wizards, and apparently blowing up a ship belonging to some very influential pirates.” The Guar let out what could be considered a chuckle. “And then, of course, there’s the fact that you killed Vanion.”
“How the hell do you know about that?” Bruno asked, scratching his head in confusion. “Didn’t that just happen?”
“Both my group and the Dark Brotherhood have contacts in the Imperial forces,” Rockie explained. “We received word as soon as Ocato’s little fleet hit Solstheim, and so did the Brotherhood, in all likelihood.” He looked up at the foursome. “And that’s why they’re trying to kill you now. They figure you’re too big a threat to just let you meander about, so they’d rather see you all dead.”
“Great,” Nathan grumbled sourly. Maybe Alderin was right: somebody was always trying to kill them. “So, where do you come in, then?” he asked.
Rockie shook his head. “Look, maybe we should wait for a bit,” he replied, beginning on his original heading anew. “I should really let the General explain all this. You’ll be safe when we get to the base, and you can eat, rest a bit,” he took in a deep breath through his nose, and scowled slightly. “Um, maybe take a bath. And then, I’ll let General Baron explain the rest.”
“Fair enough,” Nathan replied, nodding his head in approval. The sound of food, sleep and a bath all sounded good to him, and then maybe they could figure out just what the hell they were going to do about their minor murderer problem.
It wasn’t long after their conversation that something emerged out of the fog; a low lying, stone fortification. It was built with precision, dedication; this was no random cave. Rockie walked up to a large metal door, and banged on it twice with his tail. “Hey, open up!” he cried out. “It’s me, Rockie!”
“Yeah yeah, keep your pants on!” an irritated male voice called out. Nathan looked around for where the voice was coming from, and noticed a small green crystal next to the door that strobed with each word the other voice said. “The door’s unlocked,” it grumbled, as a distinct metal clack came from the door. “Did you find them?”
“Yeah,” Rockie replied, looking behind him at the others. ‘I found em’.” He turned back to the door and forced it open with his head, revealing a long, narrow corridor behind it. It was roughly square shaped, uniform all the way down, with support braces every few feet. Nathan and the others cautiously walked inside.
“Don’t worry, guys,” Rockie assured them, motioning them in with his tail. “Nothing to be scared of.” He headed down the long hallway, the others in tow. “We’ll get you four something to eat, and then you can wash up.”
“Good,” Bruno replied happily, his hand going for his stomach. “A man can’t live off mead alone, sadly.” He grinned widely, and looked down at Nathan. “Plus, I’m a little late for my annual bath!”
Smells like victory...
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Post by Vicorva on Sept 20, 2009 6:43:32 GMT
Heheheheyeah.
I really enjoy the group dynamic of this, and also heheh.
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Post by DarkNova50 on Sept 25, 2009 1:31:35 GMT
Chapter 3: Preparing for success Because that always works, right?
Nathan casually leaned back in the large steel tub, letting the hot sudsy water wash over him. He let out a content, peaceful sigh, and slowly closed his eyes. The large, white tiled room he and the others found themselves in was shaped like a large rectangle, with tubs identical to the ones each of them occupying filed along each side of the chamber. Despite its capacity, however, the room was remarkably quiet; Rockie had managed to get the room cleared out for the four of them to use privately.
“Boy, sometimes I forget just how good this feels,” Bruno commented in the tub opposite Nathan’s, his tone quite pleased. “I might just have to do this more often. Maybe even quarter-annually!”
“Maybe then you’d only cause people to gag within a five foot radius,” Alderin growled angrily next to him. “And Netta will you please do that sitting down!? My nightmares are bad enough these days without being subjected to that!”
Nathan’s eyes instinctively bulged open, and he gazed next to him to see Netta, completely in the nude, elegantly washing her arms as she stood upright in her respective basin. Alderin frantically averted his eyes while Bruno continued on normally; Nathan found himself staring intently at the Dunmer’s rather pleasing figure.
“What the hell’s your problem, Alderin?” Netta asked, her tone slightly irritated. “I don’t know what your family taught you when you were growing up, but I’ve learned not to be ashamed of my body.”
“And yet another piece of the depraved puzzle is set into place,” Alderin growled, shielding his eyes with his hands. “Maybe your parents should have taught you some moral decency while they were teaching you how to be a-“
“Doesn’t it bother you at all to have the three of us seeing you naked?” Nathan asked, surprisingly calmly, while cutting the Altmer off. “I mean, I know you’re rather frisky and all, but this is something different altogether.”
The Dunmer shrugged nonchalantly, seeming not to care. “Not really,” she replied simply. “Besides, I’ve seen the three of you naked, so I think it’s only fair that-“
“Hold it,” Bruno interrupted, arching a single eyebrow. “You’ve seen us naked? When?”
The young Dunmer giggled softly to herself, smiling madly the whole time. “Please, you three. We’ve been travelling together how long now? Made camp how many times?” She rolled her eyes, her demeanour slightly mocking. “And you’re all such heavy sleepers...”
“Sleepers?” Nathan asked, allowing the response to register in his mind for a moment. “Hold it! You mean that...while we were sleeping, you...you...”
“Yup!” she replied happily, almost proudly. “You betcha!”
“You filthy little tramp!” Alderin roared, jumping to his feet in his tub, thus queuing Nathan and Bruno’s turn to hurriedly avert their respective gazes. “My Altmer dignity, tarnished! And by a Dunmer, no less!” He frantically grabbed at his blonde mane with his hands. “How will I ever live down this humiliation!?”
It was at that moment that the large metal double doors leading into the room slowly creaked open, and through the slight haze of steam that filled the room, Nathan could make out a humanoid form moving towards them. “Sorry to barge in like this,” the form began, its tone respectful. “But time is of the essence here, and we can’t afford to-“ The figure came close enough so that Nathan identified it as a Redguard male, middle-aged and wearing a dark blue fabric uniform. His hair was black, neatly combed, with a few greys along the hairline. As the man came close enough to clearly see, he looked between Alderin and Netta, still standing in their basins, naked, with a confused look on his face. “Um, am I interrupting something here?” he asked.
“Yes,” Nathan admitted, rubbing his hand miserably down his face. “Not that it’s necessarily a bad thing, though.” He looked up at the man again. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name,” he admitted.
“That’s alright, son,” the Redguard replied as he blindly tossed a towel in Alderin’s general direction. “The name’s General Ulysses Baron, and I’m the commander of this base. I’m here to explain the situation regarding your little Brotherhood problem.”
“While the four of us are in here, taking baths, completely nude?” Alderin asked disbelievingly, as he wrapped the towel around his midsection. “What are you, insane or something?”
“Not at all!” the General cried out excitedly in response. “Why, my family has a tradition of holding important military briefings in bathhouses like this. Why, my grandfather once came up with a brilliant offensive strategy while he and his staff were all bathing, and it single handedly won him the Hammerfell Civil War!”
Bruno furrowed his brow, deep in thought. “Um, am I crazy, or has Hammerfell never had a civil war?” the Nord asked curiously.
“That’s what they’d like you to think,” Baron pointed out, nodding. “And that’s what made the offensive so damn effective!”
“Look, you’re already here, so let’s just cut all the crazy crap and get right down to it, shall we?” Nathan proposed, glaring at the General. “Just what the hell is going on, anyway?”
“Alright, down to business,” Baron replied, nodding. “Not too many people know this, but the Brotherhood has gotten alot stronger since the Oblivion Crisis,” the Redguard explained, his gaze slowly creeping towards Netta’s cleavage. “Over the years, they’ve accumulated enough men, weapons and supplies so that if they really wanted to, they could give the Legion a real run for their money.”
“Great,” Netta growled, crossing her arms over her chest. “Mind if I ask why they haven’t done so yet?”
The General seemed to curse silently as Netta hid her cleavage, and looked back to Nathan. “Well, we’ve been receiving reports over the last year that indicates the Brotherhood’s working on building something. We figure it’s some kind of weapon that’ll ensure that they can defeat the Legion, and they’ve been hunting down anybody that they think might be able to stop them,” he explained. “And after all that you four have been up to lately, they probably figure that their best bet is to get you out of the way.”
“Which means they’re gonna try to kill us, right?” Alderin asked, his tone curious yet also condescending. “That’s usually what that entails, isn’t it? People getting gruesomely murdered?”
“Usually,” Baron admitted, shrugging slightly. “But, there have been a few isolated incidents where the targets of their attacks just disappear, and we never find out what actually happens to them.”
“Swell,” Nathan grumbled, shaking his head. “So, where do we come in, then?”
“Simple,” Baron replied, smiling rather innocently. “The four of you are going to destroy the Dark Brotherhood.”
There was an awkward silence in the room as the quartet watched the General intently, their gazes showing disbelief. “No, seriously,” Alderin countered, staring at the man. “What’s the plan?”
“I’m serious!” Baron insisted, looking between each of the members of the foursome, paying special attention to Netta and her slender figure. “I believe that if the four of you can take out some of the Brotherhood’s key Speakers, and their Listener, that their leadership will effectively be crippled, and the organization will break apart into weaker, manageable splinter cells.” He flashed a slight grin. “Which means that we’ll be able to destroy whatever it is they’ve been working on, as well.”
“Forget it!” Alderin roared angrily, before anybody else had a chance to respond. “I’m not risking my ass to help you kill the Dark Brotherhood! No way, pal!”
“That’s a real shame,” Baron replied casually, mockingly examining his hands. “Because they’re gonna try to kill you, regardless of if you try to kill them. Yup, that’s a real shame.”
Nathan irritably grabbed the bridge of his nose, shaking his head bitterly. “Fine, you’ve made your point,” he grumbled sourly. “We’ll do it.”
“Excellent!” Baron exclaimed enthusiastically, standing up suddenly. “There’s some clothing for you just outside the doors I came in through. Once you’re done in here, get ready, and we can get you four equipped, and send you off on your way!” The Redguard nodded once more in approval, before heading back outside.
“Well, we’re officially screwed,” Alderin growled miserably. “A guild of assassins, hell bent on killing us? It’s all over, people!”
“C’mon, Alderin!” Netta exclaimed energetically. “He obviously thinks that we can do it! We just need to have a little faith!”
“The man was obviously insane!” Alderin countered, scowling at the Dunmer. “I bet he thinks that we could take on the Numidium, too!”
“Shut up, Alderin,” Nathan scolded irritably. “No matter how bad things seem now-“
___________________________________
“Sir, check this out,” a young man wearing a jet black robe and hood announced to another, kneeling over a body in the thick mist. A half dozen more robed figures headed towards the body, and stopped in surprise as they recognized him as Estevan Lachance.
“What happened to him?” the leader asked, looking at the corpse’s horrified death face. “I’ve never seen somebody’s face locked up like that before.”
“It’s...it’s his...lower area, sir,” replied the man who found the corpse, obviously shaken. “They’ve...I mean they’re...” The man looked away in disgust as he pulled down Estevan’s trousers. The other Brotherhood operatives took an involuntary step back in horror.
“By Sithis...” one of them muttered, clutching his stomach as he turned around. “I think I’m gonna be sick...”
Another of them ripped off his hood and threw it to the ground, revealing the face of an angry young Breton beneath. “And they call us monsters!” he roared angrily. “Bastards!”
“Keep it together, men,” the leader growled, looking to the two who had momentarily lost their cool. He looked back to the one who had found the body. “How long has he been dead?” he asked, his tone calm and detached.
“Not long, sir,” the young man replied, looking at the body. “No more than a couple of hours, I’d say.”
“Then they can’t have gone far,” the leader growled, preparing his crossbow. “Get ready men. Only those four could have done this, and we’re gonna find them. Understand?”
“Yes sir!” the group replied obediently as one, preparing their own steel crossbows.
“Move out.”
It can always be worse...
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Post by Vicorva on Sept 25, 2009 8:52:22 GMT
The Baron is awesome. Also, I find it quite amusing how horrified the Brotherhood are by Estevan's death. As ever, eagerly awaiting more. Also, your signature is now Vrek's bitch.
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Post by DarkNova50 on Sept 26, 2009 3:56:31 GMT
And so it was, that when the wretched and vile abused that which had been bestowed upon them, that the workers of the field rose up as one, for they knew that the day had come...
Viva, le revolutione!
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Chapter 4: Contact Tango Friends in high places...
As the dull red sun sombrely glared on the Sheogorad region of Vvardenfell from just above the horizon, the dull groans of mudcrabs and the high pitched wails of Cliffracers echoed through the foliage and ruined Daedric structures that marred the landscape. The sky was quickly morphing from a dark orange to a light red, and the waters gently lapped at the shores of the many islands dominating the region. Meanwhile, Nathan and friends, with their expedition well underway, slowly trudged east through the deserted waste, foolishly believing themselves alone.
“You know, I think Tiber Septim had the right idea not invading Morrowind,” Alderin casually pointed out, glancing at the various trama roots that erupted out of the ground around them. On his back, the sapphire-blue gem atop his newly acquired staff glowed faintly, entrenched by intertwining wooden tendrils. “I mean, would you look at this dump? Every square metre of this hellhole province is worse than the last.” He glanced over at Nathan, his expression curious. “Honestly, would you really wanna bother fighting anybody over this?”
“Hey!” Netta piped in irritably, her face set in anger. She sported a long, smooth silver spear on her back, the shaft of the weapon rising slightly above the height of her head. “This is my home province!” she exclaimed, jabbing her thumb into her chest. “And I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let you say anything bad about it!” She looked around, nonchalantly taking in their surroundings; a few errant streaks of sunlight filtered through the landscape, the silhouettes of foul flying pests circling in the distance against the red sky. “Besides, it’s really not all that bad, relatively speaking.”
“Relative to what? The Deadlands?” Alderin queried, his brow upraised in aggravation. “I don’t think any retard with half a brain would willingly live in this crap.”
Bruno turned away from the Orcish warhammer he had been examining, held firmly in his hands. He replaced the weapon on his back, and took a thoughtful look around, occasionally pausing on the various ruins in the distance. “I dunno...I kinda like it,” the Nord admitted, shrugging slightly.
Alderin looked ahead blankly, his lips pursing. “I stand corrected,” he replied mockingly. “Needless to say, I’d rather be dead than stuck here for any lengthy period of time.”
Nathan looked between the gaps in the foliage and rocks, paying special notice to the slowly moving red and blue lights far in the distance. He flexed his hands anxiously as the dim sunlight faintly caught on the brass of the massive Dwemer claymore he’d received from Baron and his boys. “Well, Alderin, if you keep on yammering out here, I’m sure there’s more than enough Daedra wandering around to make sure you won’t be staying long.” He gave a quick glance over to his Altmer ally, a single eyebrow raised in scepticism. “So shove a sock in it, will ya?”
When the others glanced around and also noticed the wandering lights in the distance, the distinct sound of complaints, insults and rebuttals was quickly squelched, once again replaced by the sounds of nearby animals and the ever-present waves. Bruno and Nathan both scanned the nearby area warily, while Alderin frantically looked about in all directions, his motions twitchy. Subconsciously, Netta took a few cautious steps towards Nathan, leaning close to him.
“Yeesh, what I wouldn’t give to see a few other people around here...” the young Elf groaned miserably.
______________________________________________________
“I don’t know why we got stuck tracking down these four,” one of the half-dozen Brotherhood lackeys growled sourly, as the entire group made their way through the Sheogorad region, in pursuit of their targets. “Hell, all those Speakers in the Council are constantly bragging about how much they like murdering people. Let ‘em prove it!” He looked over to one of his fellows. “I say we wait until they figure out what’s happened, and let them track down these assholes.”
“Yeah,” growled another of the lackeys. “It’d sure as hell save us alot of grief.”
“Stow it, guys,” a young Breton instructed the duo, his teeth grated in anger. “You’re both part of the Brotherhood, so start acting like it. ‘If you’re not sleeping, and you’re not murdering, you’re not trying hard enough’. You know the slogan!” He turned slyly to their leader, whose features were still shrouded by his clothing. “Besides, we got a Speaker right here. Ain’t that right, sir?”
The Speaker didn’t turn to face the Breton from inside his hood. He simply kept walking, kept hunting, a steel crossbow held in his right hand. “Just keep looking,” he ordered, his tone without emotion. The others in the group glanced timidly at each other before quickly resuming their work, scanning the landscape.
Several minutes passed without significance, the group’s efforts proving fruitless. However, one of the younger members of the group soon perked up, his expression excited. “I see ‘em!” he exclaimed, pointing just south-east of their position, bobbing up and down. “I see ‘em!”
The brown-nosing Breton from before ran next to him, and carefully examined the area the younger hunter indicated. “An Imperial, a Nord, an Altmer and a Dunmer,” he growled happily, hefting his crossbow before patting the young one on the back. “That’s them alright. Good work, boy. Now let’s go get the bastards!”
There was a silent agreement to the plan just before the group took off, quickly but quietly through the foliage, their weapons ready, their targets in sight. “We’ve got those sons-a-Daedric prostitutes now!” one of the hunters exclaimed before darting off.
The Speaker stayed behind for a moment, his gaze carefully following the quartet in the distance. “Indeed,” he muttered to himself, before taking off with a speed unmatched by any under his command.
____________________________________________________________
“And that’s just one of many reasons why Elves are clearly superior to Humans,” Alderin explained in a low voice, attempting as best he could to avoid any unwanted attention. The Altmer crossed his arms over his chest and nodded smugly in approval.
Nathan simply responded with a smug grin of his own, glancing at Alderin. “And yet we control the Empire,” he replied, shrugging in a clearly self-assured fashion. “How ‘bout that.”
“He’s got ya there, Alderin,” Netta pointed out, smiling mischievously at the annoyed Altmer. The golden-skinned Elf merely turned and glared at the Dunmer, his expression unchanging.
Bruno, however, stopped walking for a moment and looked around the immediate area with a concerned look on his face. “Did you guys hear something just now?” the massive Nord asked, curious.
Nathan scanned the area as well, while Alderin and Netta prepared to reach for their weapons. There didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary, however, and Nathan turned to his Nordic comrade. “I don’t hear any-“
Nathan’s faulty observation was quickly cut off as a man wearing a black robe, a Dark Brotherhood robe, burst forth from the foliage behind Bruno, a crossbow already aimed at the Nord. “Hold it, tough guy!” he barked, clasping his weapon tightly. “Not one move!”
Despite the comparatively puny man’s warning, Bruno began to reach for the massive hammer on his back, determined to fight this new opponent. His gesture proved to be in vain, however; there was more rustling as five more figures, all wearing robes and carrying crossbows, emerged from cover and surrounded Nathan and the others in a loose circular formation. Nathan, Netta and Alderin each had one crossbow apiece trained on them, while one more shifted his aim constantly, with the final assailant aiming his weapon at Bruno’s exposed back.
They were trapped.
The man training his weapon on Nathan, a rather angry looking Breton, grinned sadistically as a seventh figure, obscured by his clothing, emerged from the shadows. “You’re in for it now, you miserable curs,” the Breton threatened as the seventh individual took up a position between him and another of the Brotherhood attackers.
“Aw, crap,” Nathan muttered under his breath, looking around. These Brotherhood apple-polishers had taken the four of them completely by surprise; not only did they have the quartet outnumbered and flanked, but not one of the four had their weapon drawn. The Imperial let out a sharp sigh of exasperation, his mind racing to figure out a way out of this mess.
The Breton aiming the crossbow at his head, however, clearly had different plans. The man’s eyes narrowed and his grin widened as he tilted his face slightly downward, giving him a nightmarish appearance. “It’s over,” he explained smugly.
“Yes,” replied the seventh figure, levelling his crossbow in front of his obscured face. The weapon was trained steadily on Nathan’s forehead, completely unwavering. “It is.”
Nathan gulped anxiously.
Completely without warning, the seventh figure, presumably their leader, turned to his side with incredible speed, and aimed his crossbow at the head of the young Breton. Without hesitation he fired, sending bits of blood and bone flying as the sharpened bolt forced its way through the skull. He quickly grabbed the crossbow from the hand of the now dead Breton and swivelled around, firing into the chest of the surprised subordinate to his other side.
The remaining four Brotherhood lackeys, originally taken by surprise, soon caught on, and turned their weapons on their former leader. The man moved with uncanny speed, however; he dashed towards one of the other men, his robe flowing behind him, and wrapped his arm around the man’s neck. There was a sharp snap as he twisted the man’s head violently to the side, and just as quickly used the corpse as a shield as the other three fired their crossbows.
A trio of bolts slammed into the body as the former Brotherhood leader rushed forward with it, withdrawing a dagger from the corpse’s belt. Once within range of another of the attackers, he forced the blade into the man’s head; up through the neck and into the man’s brain. There was a twitching of limbs as the man’s body fell to the ground, and the Speaker quickly released his meatshield, allowing the second corpse to fall as well. He turned to look at the remaining two men.
The furthest of the pair was intelligent enough to ready his dagger, its metallic surface gleaming in the ever diminishing light. The closest, though, idiotically attempted to reload his crossbow, fumbling clumsily with the bolt as he frantically rushed to ready his weapon. The Speaker dashed forward, arm outstretched, and slammed his fist into the man’s throat, a sickening crunch coming from the point of impact. The victim’s eyes bulged as he grabbed at his neck, his windpipe hopelessly crushed. The man fell to his knees, and with one swift chop to the neck from the Speaker’s fist, he fell dead to the ground, his neck broken.
The last standing lackey rushed the Speaker with his blade in hand, his eyes full of rage. The hooded leader easily sidestepped the attack, however, and stepped forward, slamming his elbow into the back of his attacker’s head with a dull crack as he passed by. The subordinate fell clumsily to the ground, dazed, losing his grip on his dagger in his confusion. The lackey managed to roll over onto his back, and watched with anger in his eyes as the Speaker slowly turned around to face the downed man.
“You bastard,” the man growled from the ground, a look of betrayal in his face. “We trusted you.”
The Speaker seemed to pause for a moment, before drawing his own dagger from his belt. “Yes,” he replied simply, his voice devoid of remorse, or any other detectable emotion. “You did.” Without further hesitation, the Speaker dashed forward, slashing his weapon at the downed man’s throat. Blood gushed from the wound as the sharpened blade cut through the man’s artery and windpipe, before emerging from the other side. The doomed victim frantically gasped for air for but a few seconds, before falling back onto the ground, dead. With the six Brotherhood hunters dead, the Speaker straightened his posture, and turned to Nathan and the others, remaining where he was, eerily still.
There was an unmistakable silence as Nathan and the others stared at this unidentified man, who had just killed six Brotherhood assassins single-handedly. The Imperial’s eyes were wide with shock and amazement, and Alderin’s jaw hung agape in surprise. Netta glanced nervously from side to side before slowly shuffling behind Nathan.
“But can you do that every day?” Bruno asked the hooded man with a challenging tone, pointing an accusing finger as he arched a suspicious eyebrow. Alderin cast a frightened glare at the Nord, his hands quivering with fear.
The Speaker reached up to his hood, and casually threw back the garment. Revealed was the face of a pale Imperial man, his face hard and angular. The man had a full head of short, dark blonde hair which was slicked back. He wore a pair of rimless, solid black glasses with square-shaped lenses, from which behind Nathan could feel the man’s eyes probing him. He’d seen the odd eyepieces several times over the last few years; supposedly some Altmer librarian with bad eyesight had invented them awhile back. But most of the people who used them were the academic type...not the ‘relentless killing machine’ type.
The man slowly approached Nathan and the others, his face refusing to show a trace of emotion as his long strides brought him ever closer. Behind him, Nathan could hear Alderin quietly pleading with some unseen force.
The Speaker stopped about two steps away from Nathan, his lips a straight line across his face. It wasn’t until he was this close that Nathan realized just how tall the guy was; almost as tall as a Nord. He looked between Bruno, Alderin, Netta, and then finally turned his attention back to Nathan. The man gave a slight huff of approval, before extending his hand out in front of him. Nathan nearly jumped from the gesture.
“Slade Ellington, former Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood,” the man explained, his tone bordering on being hospitable. His straight lips barely curved as he gave a slight half-smile, and his left eyebrow arched over the edge of his glasses. “I’ve been waiting some time to meet you.”
Nathan’s facial features twitched as he cautiously took the man’s hand. “That’s...nice, I guess...” the Imperial replied, uncertain. Something about this man made him incredibly nervous...something besides his recent exhibition. Inside his chest, Nathan’s heart was ramming against his ribcage as he struggled to keep himself calm.
“We have much to discuss, you and I,” Slade explained to Nathan, tilting his head slightly to the right. “Namely, about how I’m going to help you destroy the Brotherhood.”
Alderin collapsed forward onto the ground, passed out.
Just don’t point that thing at me...
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Post by Vicorva on Sept 26, 2009 9:18:33 GMT
Hehehehehehehehe.
Ooh, I do rather enjoy this. I'm fascinated by Slade. (I recognise this name from your other story- is it a favourite name, or a favourite character?) The only complaint I'd have is that you haven't captured the Dark Brotherhood very well-> the DB being complete psychos, and them all considering each other to be family. For instance, in last chapter, they might have taken sick pleasure in finding Estevan's body (not that I'm complaining, that was hilarious)- while at the same time being outraged that any would dare kill their 'brother'.
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Post by DarkNova50 on Sept 26, 2009 20:52:02 GMT
The 'family' aspect of the Brotherhood is something I tried to introduce in one of the later chapters, and something I hope to start playing on more in the chapters that I'm writing now, especially once they get close to Mournhold.
As far as Slade goes, I once had a teacher with the name. I really liked the sound of it, and came up with a corresponding character that I quite liked as well, with characteristics drawn from various characters I like in video games and TV shows.
But I prattle on too long...here's chapter 5!
_______________________ _______________________
Chapter 5: Motive for Homicide Well they started it...
There was a dull thud as Slade’s small wooden craft bumped against the shore of the largest island in the Sheogorad region, nestling itself snugly in the damp sand. In the quickly fading daylight, Nathan could make out the barren landscape off in the distance, a few interweaving roads barely visible.
“There,” Slade commented simply, getting up and out of the craft. “We should be able to walk to Dagon Fel from here.” He turned to face Nathan, his face taking on a rather stoic expression. “That’s where the first of the Brotherhood Speakers from the Council should be.”
“Swell,” Nathan grumbled in response, hefting himself out of the boat. Slade had already explained to him, Bruno and Netta that the Speakers they were looking for were part of some kind of leadership council for the Dark Brotherhood, and that a number of them were scattered throughout Vvardenfell. Unfortunately, he’d also explained that he didn’t know their names, or where exactly to find them...just the cities they were located in. Nathan turned around to Netta, still in the boat, as she tended to the still passed out Alderin. “How’s he doing, Netta?” he asked curiously.
“Lemme check,” she replied, before kneeling over Alderin’s prone form, laying with his back on the deck of the ship. The young Dunmer took in a deep breath, and positioned her face directly over his. “ALDERIN!!!” she hollered at the top of her lungs, the sound of her voice echoing off the hundreds of rocks in the distance. And yet, Alderin’s body didn’t stir. Netta looked up at Nathan and shrugged. “Still out, I guess,” she explained.
“Unbelievable...” Slade grumbled under his breath, crossing his arms over his chest. Nathan noted that he found it slightly disturbing, not being able to see the man’s eyes beneath those tinted lenses, but decided not to dwell on it. “He’s been out for nearly two hours now,” the man observed, before looking over to Nathan. “Is he always so-“
“Cowardly? Squeamish? Pathetic?” Nathan asked, anticipating the man’s query. His gaze fell to the ground, and he shook his head miserably. “Yeah, I’m afraid so...”
“I’ve got an idea,” Bruno announced to the others, standing up suddenly from the boat. He placed his arms under Alderin’s back, hopped out of the beached craft, and headed towards the water.
“What the hell are you doing, Bruno?” Netta asked, genuinely intrigued by the Nord’s actions. Standing at the lapping edge of the tides, Bruno rather casually tossed Alderin into the water, the Elf’s body creating a large splash as it hit the surface of the water, face down.
There was a brief moment of awkward silence as the group watched Alderin bob gently up and down in the waves. “Bruno, as irritating as he is, I hardly think that letting Alderin drown is the answer here,” Nathan intervened, his gaze locked on the Nord.
“This is something my mom always used to do,” Bruno explained, turning around. “When I was younger, I had a bad habit of going out and drinking a little too much. So, when I wouldn’t wake up the next day, my mom would pick me up, throw me into a pool of freezing cold ice water, and Ysmir’s your uncle, I’d be up!” the Nord exclaimed, nodding in approval. “Then, of course, she’d dry me off, I’d cuddle with my blankey, and she’d help me nurse my hangover...”
Nathan gave a slight nod of understanding before something clicked in his mind. “Wait a minute, blankey?” Netta asked, beating the Imperial to the punch. The Elf looked to Bruno as the Nord stared off into space, fondly remembering. “How old were you when this happened?”
The question seemed to bring Bruno back into reality, and he thought for a moment. “It started when I was around eight, I believe,” he replied, intently focused. “But everybody always said I was drinking at a fifteen-year-old level!”
The conversation was cut short, however, as Alderin suddenly came back to life, thrashing wildly in the water in a frantic attempt to right himself. He let out a long, desperate gasp for air as his head thrust over the surface of the water, and he looked around in a dazed and confused manner. “What the...how the-“ he began to ask, completely discombobulated.
“Hey there, Alderin,” Netta greeted the Altmer as she stepped out of the boat, gazing at him with an arched eyebrow. “Sleep well?”
“Sleep!? What the hell are you talking about!?” the Elf screamed back in reply, scanning the group. “What’s he doing here?” he asked, pointing to Slade who watched the spectacle with detached interest. “And how the hell did I end up in the water!?”
“Nordic technique,” Nathan explained to the Altmer, a smile forming on his face. “Apparently, quite effective, too.” Bruno beamed happily in triumph.
Alderin’s eyes narrowed, anger flashing across his face. “You drunken bastard! I shoulda known it was you!” he roared, storming up the beach and coming face to face with the massive Nord. Water dripped readily from his hair and clothing as he brought an accusative finger mere inches from the man’s face. “I could have drowned! Anything to say about that!?’
Bruno merely patted the enraged Elf on the shoulder, a gentle, genuine smile on his lips. “You’re welcome, buddy,” he replied, before reaching into his jacket for a well deserved mead. He turned around and headed down one of the narrow roads, popping the top off the bottle. Alderin merely stood in place, eyes bulging, frozen by rage and surprise.
“We should get going, guys,” Nathan explained to the others, heading after Bruno. “We’ll explain everything on the way to Dagon Fel, Alderin!” And with that he, Slade, Netta and a very disgruntled Alderin quickly set off after Bruno, the last of the sun’s beams fading beneath the horizon.
_____________________________________________________
The stars and moons overhead were out in full force by the time the group neared Dagon Fel, a massive Dwemer tower looming in the distance. Tiny dots of light, torches and lanterns presumably, wandered amongst the buildings as they approached the small village.
Nathan, meanwhile, turned to the newcomer of their group, and decided to indulge his curiosity. “Slade, I don’t believe you ever told us why you decided to betray the Dark Brotherhood,” the young Imperial pointed out.
Slade paused on the road for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, before gazing up at the sky, at the hundreds of stars that blinked elegantly overhead. “Tell me, Nathan,” he began, his sight never shifting from the heavens above. “Do you believe...in love?”
“Aw crap...” Alderin grumbled sourly in the background, slapping his palm against his face. “Here we go.”
“Um...I guess so,” Nathan replied, his tone uncertain. He shot Slade an uncertain look, and cringed slightly as he asked his next question. “Mind if I ask...why?”
“Because I do believe in love,” Slade replied, shifting his glance back to Nathan. “I love...killing people,” he explained, his tone earnest.
“Well personally, I prefer alcoholic beverages,” Bruno interjected, raising his bottle of mead. “But as long as you love something, right?”
Netta furrowed her brow in confusion, and looked directly at the ’love’ stricken Imperial. “Uh, this may sound like a stupid question, but if you love killing people so much, then why would you want to quit the Dark Brotherhood?” she asked, perplexed.
“Like any good hobby, killing should be done for personal satisfaction,” Slade replied calmly, his voice taking on its usual monotone. “I feel that people should be killed because you’ve come to hate them for reasons entirely your own...not because some pompous Listener decides that it would make the Night Mother happy.” He turned to face Netta. “And of course, the Brotherhood doesn’t exactly let its members retire, so-“
“So you figured that we’d be the perfect way for you to get out,” Nathan pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest. “Help us defeat the Brotherhood, and suddenly you’re free to go off and kill people when and where you want, right?”
“Exactly,” Slade responded, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “That’s not going to be a problem, is it?”
“So long as it means you’re killing them and not trying to kill us, I don’t care!” Alderin exclaimed, clearly quite comfortable with...and possibly used to...the idea of being a tool. “Now let’s just get going, shall we?”
“First things first,” Bruno replied, heading once again for Dagon Fel. “Before we do anything, I need something to eat.”
“Eat?” Nathan asked, as he and the others headed after the Nord. “Why didn’t you eat something while we were back at the base?”
“Did you see that crap?” the Nord asked in reply, giving Nathan a sceptical look. “That grey, slimy shit? It looked like a goblin’s afterbirth.” He shook his head in disapproval. “I wasn’t gonna eat that!”
“Actually, a goblin’s afterbirth is more of a greenish-blue, and it’s really more gelatinous than slimy,” Netta pointed out cheerfully. “I read it in some book on...inter-species anatomy...one time!” she explained, struggling slightly with the topic name.
“Thank you for that pleasant mental image, Netta,” Alderin growled bitterly. “I really needed to know the specifics about goblin childbearing.”
“Very well, then,” Slade replied to Bruno, before looking to the others of the group. “The four of you go ahead; I’ll see if I can find where the Speaker is holed up,” he explained. With that, he pulled his hood over his head, and slinked into the shadows behind one of the sheds next to the water.
“Alright, then!” Bruno exclaimed, heading for a nearby restaurant, the Scurvy Slaughterfish. “It’s feeding time!”
Nathan and the others found themselves in a large, relatively calm establishment, with only a few people scattered about the eatery. They headed for a nearby vacant table, surprisingly clean and well kept, as a female Khajiit approached them, a small piece of parchment in her furry hand.
“Can I get the four of you anything?” the woman asked, her feline ears perked forward. The humanoid cat wore a short sleeved shirt and a simple skirt, which matched the attire of the other servers that casually meandered about the place. In the corner of his eye, Nathan could see the woman’s tail flick back and forth periodically.
“Just give us four of the biggest and cheapest meals ya got,” Bruno requested, his massive hands resting on the table top. The Khajiit gave a slight shrug of acceptance before heading for the counter to place the order.
“You know, I can’t remember the four of us actually eating anything since we left the Tiber Septim Hotel,” Netta pointed out, looking between the others at the table.
Alderin looked off to the side for a moment, apparently trying to remember something. “Come to think of it, can you remember any of us eating or sleeping the entire time we’ve been travelling?” the Altmer asked, furrowing his brow.
There was an awkward silence as the quartet sat for a moment, reflecting on the two observations. That line of thought was interrupted, however, when the Khajiit waitress quickly returned with a large tray, four plates atop it. Nathan noticed that the woman seemed oddly nervous, however.
“C-courtesy of the ch-chef,” she stammered, placing the four plates on the table. She was shaking so badly, though, that she nearly dropped them as she did so. “F-free of ch-charge...” As soon as the dishes were laid down on the table, the woman quickly set off again.
“That was weird,” Nathan pointed out, looking to the counter. A young man wearing a tall white chef’s hat, a Breton, glanced at the foursome nervously, before quickly turning away, attending to some other dish.
“As long as it’s free, who cares!” Bruno exclaimed, grabbing at his silverware and sifting through his meal; some kind of soufflé, by the looks of it.
Nathan gave a slight shrug before looking down at his meal, and noticing something...disturbing. “Um, this seems oddly out of place,” he grumbled, pulling a nightshade flower out of a rather sloppily prepared salad. He turned the deadly flora in his hand, scowling at it.
“Maybe it’s just a garnish,” Netta suggested, looking at her own food, covered in a viscous green liquid.
“I don’t think poisons are typically used as a garnish, Netta,” Nathan replied with an earnest tone.
Bruno, meanwhile, examined the inside of his dish, and discovered a heaping mound of fire salt. He prodded at it in an absent minded fashion, before looking between the others. “Think I should send it back?” he asked curiously.
“That does it!” Alderin roared, exploding from his seat. “I demand to speak with the cook!” The Altmer, followed quickly by the others, filed towards the counter, and the Breton chef behind it.
“Oh [censored]!” the young man wailed frantically, before bolting for the back room. The quartet was quick to follow, however, as they shoved past a large set of white double doors, and into a large storage room in the back.
The large, poorly lit room was filled with all sorts of cooking supplies placed on metal shelves: meats, pastries, cooking gear, and even two massive wooden barrels in the back, labelled ‘liquid butter’. More importantly, however, was the eight or so other chefs in the room, as well as the fattest, most obscenely obese Orc Nathan had ever seen in his life.
“What is the meaning of this?” the flabby, green skinned beast roared angrily, holding a partially eaten stick of butter in each hand. He wore a white chef’s jacket, and his balding head and uncovered forearms glistened with what looked like sweat, but was in all likelihood actually grease.
“We all got some real slipshod service out there just now!” Alderin hollered in response, gesturing at the dining area behind him. “I mean nightshade in the salad? Fire salt in the soufflé? What the hell?” the Altmer asked in disbelief.
“You imbecile!” the quivering butterball of an Orc yelled at the young Breton chef, rage in his face. “Just because you’re trying to kill them doesn’t mean you slack off in the preparation! Even your enemy deserves a decent last meal!”
“Guys, I gotta bad feeling about this...” Netta grumbled sourly, retrieving her spear. Nathan, Bruno and Alderin likely retrieved their weapons as the chefs grabbed whatever was available near them: kitchen knives, meat tenderizers, and even iron frying pans.
“Well, you know what they say,” the Orc growled, dropping his butter sticks and pulling out a pair of large butcher’s cleavers. “Never send an idiot to do a Speaker’s job.”
Cheque please...
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Post by Vicorva on Sept 27, 2009 7:33:49 GMT
Hehe. I particularly enjoyed Slade being 'in love' and I don't know why but the image of Alderin soaking wet and berating Bruno made me happy. Must be because its so familiar. Oh, and them reminiscing on not eating or sleeping for their whole journey made me very, very happy.
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Post by DarkNova50 on Sept 30, 2009 5:26:00 GMT
Chapter 6: Hell’s Kitchen[/u] Come for the murder, stay for the food...
“Go, my underlings!” the lard assed Orc of a Speaker hollered, his massive rolls of fat vibrating as he shot forth a single arm, pointing at Nathan and the others. “Leave not one standing!”
“Actually, sir,” one of the comparatively puny chefs piped in, turning to face the Speaker. “We took it to a vote, and we prefer the term associates to your rather degrading underlings.” The man pulled out a small piece of parchment, and scanned it briefly. “Other acceptable terms include henchmen, workers, minions-”
“Silence slaves!” the Orc roared, his eyes bulging in anger. “First you ass holes want full dental, and now this!?” He glared between the various members of the group. “First, kill those four! Then we’ll talk!”
“Alright, that does it, fatass,” Bruno grumbled, hefting his hammer, preparing to strike as the Speaker’s minions prepared to do the same. “It’s hammer time!” The Nord rushed forward, pulling back his weapon as he neared the Speaker. “Bruno SMASH!”
With uncanny speed for one of his excessive girth, the Brotherhood Speaker reached into one of his pockets, and recovered a small satchel, made of cloth and some kind of netting. “Let’s see how you like my onion salt grenade, shall we?” the Orc chuckled happily, before casually tossing the small ball at Bruno’s face. The thing exploded into a white cloud of seasoning, and Bruno let out a feral roar as his vision was obscured. He veered off course, swinging his weapon blindly, errantly catching one of the subordinates in the head. The man let out a slight yelp of pain as he careened into one of the large metal shelving units, which promptly collapsed on top of him.
“Well this is going splendidly,” Nathan grumbled sourly to himself as Bruno let out a feral roar in the distance, swinging his hammer madly at opponents that weren’t there. The group of chefs had moved in on Nathan and the two Elves, now, their makeshift weapons at the ready. “Alright, guys, I’m gonna go for the Speaker,” the Imperial explained, hefting his heavy Dwemer blade. “Cover me.”
“Fine then, go for it,” Alderin urged, aiming the tip of his staff at a balding Breton man, wielding a frying pan. “Ain’t my job to talk you outta killin’ yerself.”
Nathan rolled his eyes, exasperated. “And thank you for that vote of confidence, Alderin,” he grumbled, bracing his legs. “Alright, here I go!” Suddenly, Nathan lunged forward, weapon raised high over his head, straight at the centre of the enemy’s sloppy formation, causing many of the chefs to recoil in surprise. “EXCELSIOR!”
The centre of the enemy line collapsed, sent tumbling ass first to the floor as Alderin thrust his staff in their direction. Nathan bowled through the ruined formation, past Bruno and headed straight for the Speaker. The chefs still standing, however, angrily growled at the Altmer, raising their own weapons as they charged both him and Netta.
“Alright,” Netta began, elegantly bringing her silver spear to bear. “Here they come!”
Alderin mumbled bitter curses under his breath. “Where the hell is that idiot Slade when you need him?”
______________________________________
“So you’re sure you don’t know where the Speaker is?” Slade asked from the corner of the small shack, the illumination from the fireplace softly playing against the back of his dark robe. He turned around, and from beneath his frames glared out at his prisoner. “Because I’m getting real tired of asking.”
The frantic Redguard man struggled uselessly against his restraints as he dangled upside down from the ceiling, slowly rotating next to the fire. “Listen, man, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” he screamed, his eyes wide with panic. “I keep the money in a chest underneath the bed! Just take it and get the hell out!”
Slade shook his head disapprovingly as he approached the Redguard. “You don’t honestly expect me to believe the whole ‘I’m an innocent civilian’ bit, do you?” he asked. He glanced into the other room, at an Argonian that had been stripped down to nothing but his undergarments. He lay on a large, wooden table, his arms and legs tied together, with a large, red apple lodged in his mouth, effectively acting as a gag. “Anything to add to the conversation?” the Imperial asked. The lizard merely let out a series of howls and groans as he struggled against his restraints.
“Listen, we ain’t gonna tell you shit,” the Redguard explained, his upside down expression angry now. “So you may as well let us go, and we’ll forget any of this ever happened. Deal?”
Slade let out a slight chuckle. “Please. I know you’re both part of the Brotherhood, and that you know where the Speaker is. And I’m getting that information, one way, or another.” The Imperial knelt down slightly next to the Redguard, bringing their faces level with each other. “Last chance to do this the easy way.”
The Redguard scowled as he thrashed back and forth like a fish in the throes of death. “Scum! The Night Mother will see you dead for your treachery!” He angrily spat in Slade’s face, a glob of saliva striking the man’s cheek. “We’ll tell you nothing!”
Slade straightened himself to his full height, and irritably wiped the spit from his face. “Not – smart,” he growled, a hint of anger in his voice. He reached into his robe and put on a pair of black leather gloves, before walking towards the fireplace, and bringing out a red hot poker. He examined the instrument carefully as he slowly approached the Redguard again.
“You think I’m scared of you?” the Redguard taunted in a prideful tone. “Do your worst!”
“Thank you, I believe I will,” Slade replied, lifting up the poker. He headed around behind the Redguard, and the prisoner’s eyes widened slightly, fear entering his face.
“W-wait, what are you doing?”
“My worst.”
“No...not the ass!”
___________________________________
There was a metallic clink as Netta’s spear shaft made contact with a rather large kitchen knife, aimed for her right breast. “You miserable piece-a-crap!” the Dunmer growled, delivering a kick to the attacking chef’s chest, forcing him back. “What’s the big idea!?”
The chef grinned sadistically, eyeing the young Elf up and down. “You’re the perfect specimen, my dear,” he replied, his eyes hungry. “Lean, fit, but still plenty of meat on your bones.” He licked his lips. “Served with a nice cream sauce, you’ll-“
“Hold it!” Alderin screeched, sidestepping a clumsy lunge by a cook wielding a meat tenderizer. “You’re telling me you idiots aren’t just assassins, but you’re cannibals too!?”
The hostile with the tenderizer adjusted his chef’s hat, and steadied his stance. “Of course!” he proclaimed in reply, as if the concept was obvious. “We’re going around killing people all the time, and a man’s gotta eat! It’s only natural to combine the two!”
“No, it’s not!” Alderin roared, the end of his staff roiling with pent up flame. He directed the weapon at his attacker, and a savage stream of fire released from its tip, engulfing the man. He let out a hysterical scream as he ran about the combat area, his screams blending with those of the lackeys running from a now perfect sighted Bruno.
Meanwhile, Nathan grumbled sourly to himself as another of the blows from his blade was deflected by the Orcish Speaker’s dual cleavers, accompanied by a dull grunt of laughter from the enormous beast. “Dammit, you slimy sack-a-shit!” Nathan roared, glaring at the Speaker. “You’re turning this into a real inconvenience for me! Just die already!” With his blade still locked with the Orc’s weapons, he brought up his leg and slammed it into the Speaker’s side.
Or at least he tried to.
The red headed Imperial let out a cry of disgust as his leg became hopelessly lodged between two colossal layers of fat jutting out from the Orc’s side. He strained to free his trapped appendage from its calorie ridden prison, but found it was to no avail.
“You fool!” the Orc roared, a delighted smile forming on his oversized face. “I am ninety-eight percent body fat!” The Orc took on an expression that conveyed he was concentrating on something for a moment, and Nathan quickly realized that his leg was being sucked further into the Speaker’s rolls.
In a last ditch effort, Nathan lifted his other leg off the ground, finding somewhat to his horror that the Orc’s girth was capable of supporting his full weight. With his blade still locked with his opponent’s cleavers, he leaned back and forcefully kicked the beast in the face with his boot, sending the quivering mass of an assassin reeling backwards, towards one of the massive barrels of liquid butter.
There was a stark oomph from the Orc as he toppled over backwards, his massive rolls quivering. At this point, Nathan found he was able to free his leg, and quickly made his way towards the small metal tap on the large barrel, that was positioned more or less over the Speaker’s head. Without hesitation, Nathan opened the thing to its fullest, and a stream of creamy yellow butter streamed forth.
For a moment, the massive Orc was frozen in surprise, simply staring up at the flowing stream of dairy. This hesitation was short lived, however, as he forced his head up off the ground, and wrapped his lips around the tap, literally guzzling the creamy ooze.
“Sir, no!” one of the chefs currently fighting Netta screamed frantically. “Your heart, remember!?”
But the Orc seemed to ignore the man’s warning, continuing to gorge himself on the butter. Soon, his eyes and torso were bulging from the strain of it all, but the overindulgent Speaker was unable to help himself. There was a sudden pop from the beast’s body, and the Orc was suddenly limp. A slow stream of blood and butter flowed from the body, mixing on the floor to create a revolting orange. Nathan backed a good distance away.
“Boss is dead!” one of the remaining chefs hollered to his fellows desperately. “Let’s get the hell outta here!” The surviving Brotherhood lackeys rushed away from their opponents and towards the door that led out into the restaurant, brushing past Slade as he worked his way in.
The quartet’s conveniently absent ally simply watched as the gaggle of chefs bolted out the door, before turning to the others. He noted each of them in turn before looking at the corpse of the Speaker, the river of fluids from his corpse reaching into the middle of the room now. “Mind if I ask what the hell happened?” he asked, his voice notably unsurprised.
Nathan nudged the corpse tentatively with his boot, the action accompanied by a slight, fluidic squish. “He served me some bad salad, so I killed him,” he replied, before looking up at Slade.
There was a short pause before Slade gave a slight shrug in response. “And they say I’m a tough sell,” he grumbled, before calmly walking up to the others. “I managed to get this location from a Brotherhood lackey in town...not that you four had much trouble finding it yourselves.”
“It’s a calling,” Netta replied simply, replacing her weapon. “So what do we do now?”
“I managed to round up an Argonian with a boat,” Slade explained as the group began out of the storage room, into the dining area and towards the nearby docks. “He should be able to get us to Sadrith Mora, and then from there we should be able to hit the other cities in rapid succession.”
“Well that’s good and all,” Nathan began, a slightly confused expression on his face. “But how are we gonna pay this guy? We don’t really have any money.”
Slade let out a slight chuckle. “After what happened to his buddy, he was more than willing to accommodate us,” he replied.
Netta gave the Imperial a sceptical look in response to his cryptic comment, before shrugging slightly. “Alright, then,” she sighed, shrugging slightly. “I guess we’re off, then!”
Master of Disaster...
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Post by Vicorva on Oct 2, 2009 10:03:39 GMT
That was an amazing fight scene. I never really know what to say when I read this, except to gush praise. (Which I disapprove of doing). I enjoy the references and the sheer ridiculousness of it all.
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Post by DarkNova50 on Oct 3, 2009 18:23:11 GMT
Aww...you certainly know how to make a fella feel appreciated, Illusionary!
Admittedly, I'm a tad dubious as to the quality of the last couple chapters I've written after the long break...but that might just be trying to work in such a large number of characters at once. Hopefully, when the main group gets on the road again, things will pick up.
But I digress.
________________________ ________________________
Chapter 7: Trouble in Tel Mora[/u] Girl power...
Overhead, the two moons of Nirn, Masser and Secunda, slowly peaked in the night sky, casting a subtle white glow on everything below. Around them, the stars that made up the constellations blinked brilliantly, in stark contrast to the inky void that surrounded them in all directions. Nathan’s attention was drawn from this spectacle, however, as the transport vessel made another abrupt and twitchy course adjustment, sending him and the others on the ship’s deck grabbing for the railing for support.
“Oi!” Alderin roared, turning angrily to the frightened and wide-eyed Argonian. “What the hell’s going on over there!?”
“Nothing to concern yourself with,” Slade pointed out, standing a short distance away from the frantic lizard. The Imperial crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze fixed on the captain. “Just a little turbulence, right?” The Argonian gave a frightened whimper in response, his eyes darting around desperately.
“Slade, what the hell did you do to that poor bastard?” Netta asked, dusting herself off and standing up off the deck. “Damn guy looks like he’s about to up and have a heart attack on us.”
“Frankly, what I did or didn’t do isn’t really important,” Slade replied, taking a couple of steps towards the Argonian. “What is important is that we remember that asking too many questions can be a bad thing, and what happens to certain lizards who seek out the proper authorities.” He casually patted the already anxious captain on the back.
And that was what did it. The Argonian’s eyes bulged wider than anything Nathan had ever seen before, and his claws quickly went from the wheel to his chest as he gasped for air. He fell over backwards, clutching at his chest before ceasing all movement, his body unnaturally stiff.
“Holy shit, dude...” Nathan mumbled to himself in disbelief, narrowing his eyes. It only took a moment for him to remember that the ship was now without a captain, however, and he quickly turned to Bruno. “Hey, Bruno! Yer up!”
“I’m on it, boss!” the Nord replied, quickly darting for the vessel’s controls. Meanwhile, Netta and Alderin quickly headed for the downed Argonian, checking his body.
“So? How is he?” Nathan asked, walking towards the others as Bruno stabilized the boat’s trajectory.
Netta checked for a pulse, and shook her head in disapproval. “He’s dead,” she replied simply, a slight tone of sympathy in her voice as she looked up at Nathan.
“Well that’s just great,” Alderin groaned miserably, rolling his eyes. “That means we’re stuck with captain lunkhead over there, and every ship that he’s ever commanded has exploded...or sank...or exploded, and then sank.” The Altmer crossed his arms irritably over his chest, furrowing his brow. “This should go well...”
“I believe the town of Tel Mora is not far from here,” Slade pointed out, looking ahead of the ship’s bow. “Perhaps it would be prudent to stop there momentarily?”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Nathan replied, looking to Bruno. “Think you can get us there?”
“No problem, boss!” the Nord cried out happily, grabbing the controls with both hands. “You’re all in good hands!”
Alderin turned to Nathan, a sour expression on his face. “Well this is all fine and good, but what are we gonna do with the dead lizard?” the Altmer asked quizzically. “Just toss him overboard?”
________________________________________
Nathan stood on the oddly shaped docks of Tel Mora and watched carefully as a small group of female Telvanni guards stepped carefully off the ship, carrying the recently deceased Argonian captain off the vessel. Just next to the vessel, another guard, a female Dunmer in bonemold armour, save the helm, addressed Netta, holding a small piece of parchment.
“And what did you say he died of, again?” the guard asked, scratching the back of her jet black hair with her free hand.
“Auto-erotic asphyxiation,” Netta replied, calmly and confidently, without the slightest hint of her deception.
The Telvanni guard shrugged slightly, apparently convinced. “We’ve been seeing alot of that lately,” she explained. “Don’t really know why.” She glanced over at Nathan, Bruno, Alderin and Slade, and gave them a slightly angry look. “Those men with you?” she asked Netta.
“Um...yeah,” Netta replied, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Is that gonna be a problem?”
The guard placed a single hand on Netta’s shoulder. “I don’t know if you noticed, but there are no men in Tel Mora,” she explained casually. “We get the odd traveller here and there, but their kind isn’t exactly welcome here.” She glanced back at Nathan and the others. “Especially not four at once.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they’re on their best behaviour,” Netta replied with a slight nod, and received one in return before running up to Nathan and the others. “Okay, guys, they’re gonna let us stay here for a bit, but you guys have gotta follow my lead. They aren’t too fond of men here.” She arched a single eyebrow as her gaze shifted between each of them. “That means no saying anything stupid.”
“I’d say that goes double for the Altmer,” Slade pointed out simply, which quickly received a nod of approval from Bruno.
“What!? Why the hell are you singling me out!?” Alderin whined irritably. A group of Telvanni guards in the distance turned to the group and spoke amongst themselves.
“Don’t be stupid, Alderin,” Nathan grumbled in response, his voice low. “Everybody knows the Telvanni are already cranky enough. You let off one poorly timed laundry joke here, and we’re all dead.”
The others seemed to agree with Nathan’s assessment, and they quickly took to the local bar, or at least the town’s equivalent, The Covenant. As the group walked through the building’s rounded doorway, however, the bustling conversation of the place was quickly stifled, replaced instead with a heavy, awkward silence, as dozens of women glared at the men encroaching on their territory.
“Don’t mind us, ladies,” Nathan stated, holding up his hands defensively. “We’re just passing through, honest.” And yet the Imperial’s assurances didn’t cease the ire filled glares of the women as he and his comrades approached the counter of the bar, a petite young Bosmer glaring at them as they approached.
“Hey there,” Bruno greeted the Elf timidly, taking a seat at the counter. “Any chance I could get a mead from you?” The Bosmer narrowed her eyes slightly, before turning to face Netta. The young Dunmer gave a slight apologetic shrug, and the Bosmer went back to retrieve the drink.
“I don’t like it here,” Bruno commented, his shoulders slumping. “I wanna go back to the Tiber Septim, where everybody knows my name.” Nathan patted the Nord sympathetically on the back.
“I’ll admit, I knew this place was not exactly male-friendly,” Slade began, observing the angry glares around the room. “But I never expected it to be this bad.”
“Well can you blame them?” Netta shot back, her tone slightly agitated. “After all, you men are fairly disgusting.”
Nathan shot the young Dunmer a surprised and confused look, his eyes wide with surprise. “Now where the hell did that come from?” he asked, unsure of the cause of the Dunmer’s demeanour.
There was a sharp clink from the counter as the Bosmer returned, and angrily slammed the bottle of mead down in front of Bruno. “Your mead,” she growled, acid in her voice.
Bruno stared at the bottle and the Elf for a moment, before quickly turning to Nathan. “Screw the booze. Boss, I gotta bad feelin’ about all this. Can we please just leave?” the Nord asked, pleading.
“This is probably the only time I’ll ever say this, but I’m with the lummox on this one,” Alderin added in, glancing around nervously. “I say [censored] the whole town and let’s get the hell outta here.”
That was all the encouragement Nathan needed; he quickly shot up from his seat and made a beeline straight for the structure’s large, bronze door, with Bruno and the other men close in tow. He turned around as he neared the door, and gave Netta a sceptical look, as the Dunmer still stood near the bar. “C’mon Netta, let’s go!” he cried out. After a moment of hesitation, the Elf reluctantly followed.
As Nathan and the others quickly made their way to the docks, they noticed that women started to come out of many of the town’s buildings, and in rather large groups, the same disdainful looks in their eyes. “I don’t like this...” Alderin grumbled bitterly as the massive group started following them to the docks.
When they finally arrived at their vessel, there was a contingent of five Telvanni guards already on board, several of them with their arms crossed. “Thinking of going somewhere?” one of them asked, her tone sarcastic and condescending.
Nathan took a few steps back, and grit his teeth slightly. “Netta, will you please talk to them?” the Imperial requested nervously. But to his dismay, there was no reply from the Dunmer. “Netta?” he asked again, turning around to face his comrade. The last thing he remembered was Netta’s angry face, and the shaft of her silver spear colliding with his face.
________________________________________
“Boss man?” a voice asked him, although it seemed distant and far away. “Yo, boss? You there?”
Nathan grunted slightly as he opened his eyes, and tried to rub his face. He soon realized, however, that his arms were shackled, chained to the wall. He and the others were restrained in a standing position, their legs likewise chained to the wall, each one of them standing next to another. Nathan recognized the internal architecture of the structure as that of the odd Telvanni towers he’d seen earlier, with its organic looking walls and oddly shaped chambers. The room he and the others were in was relatively empty, a single bed at the other side of the chamber, and a hallway to the right of their position.
Nathan looked at Bruno to his left, a concerned look on the Nord’s face. “Yeah, I’m alright,” he replied, shaking it off. He looked to his right to see Alderin, and Slade to the right of him. “Everybody else alright?” he asked them.
“I knew it,” Alderin growled angrily, shaking his head in disbelief. “I knew that Dunmer whore would betray us sooner or later.” The Altmer glared angrily at Nathan, rage teeming on his face. “Those damned Dark Elves have no place in civilized society!”
“I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation for all this, Alderin,” Nathan replied calmly, testing his restraints. Damn; solid. “I just can’t think of one off the top of my head...”
“For years, I’ve had a spotless record of employment,” Slade grumbled to Alderin’s right, his voice sour. “And after less than two days with you people, I’ve been captured, bringing an end to my otherwise flawless career.”
“Didn’t your career effectively end when you decided to betray and murder your own men to join us?” Bruno asked, jutting his head out to spot the Imperial’s reaction.
“Well, I suppose that’s true,” Slade replied, before letting out a slight sigh of relief. “I was worried there for a second...”
“Glad that worked out for ya, really,” Nathan grumbled back, before turning to Alderin. “Any chance you can use magic to get us outta these things?” he asked the Altmer.
“I’m afraid you’ll find that’s impossible,” a hauntingly familiar voice came from the hallway. Netta, now dressed in a sleeveless, long red dress that seemed to organically flow behind her, stepped casually into the room from the hallway, her silver spear at her side. “You see, those restraints were designed to drain the captive’s magic, to keep them from using it to escape.” She flashed a slight half smile. “Which means you aren’t going anywhere.”
“Well well, if it isn’t the prostitute in the red dress,” Alderin growled, narrowing his eyes at the Dunmer. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”
Netta mockingly placed a hand over her left breast, feigning a touched expression. “Well isn’t that sweet,” she replied, her voice sarcastic. “You care.”
“Listen Netta,” Nathan growled angrily, glaring at the Dunmer. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, or what’s wrong with you, but please, just get us the hell outta these things, and we’ll forget the whole thing, alright?”
Netta hefted up her spear, and with considerable speed and force, struck Nathan in the side of the face with the end of the shaft. “Shut up,” she growled back, her face angry. “You’re in no position to be giving anybody orders, male.”
Nathan spat a glob of blood onto the floor which hit with a fluidic splat. “Well, that was unexpected,” he explained, shaking his head. “And also quite unpleasant!”
“You Dunmer [censored]!” Alderin roared, his face filled with rage as he strained against his chains. “If I wasn’t in these shackles...”
“But you are, Alderin,” the Dunmer replied, as she walked up to the Altmer and brought her face a few inches from his. “You are in the shackles,” she explained, patting him mockingly on the cheek.
“Come now, Netta,” came another female voice from around the corner of the hallway, still Dunmer but far more elderly. “Don’t get the sad creatures too riled up. You know how simple they are...”
Netta obediently stepped back from the four men, and headed for the back of the room as two more women, a Breton in a green dress similar to Netta’s, and an Altmer in a blue one, stepped in and took up positions on either side of the young Dunmer. Shortly after, an elderly Dark Elf woman, wearing an old looking amber robe, walked into the room, a staff in hand. She made her way to the centre of the room, where she turned and glared at Nathan and the men.
“Who in the hell are you supposed to be!?” Nathan demanded, his tone furious. “And what have you done to Netta!?”
The elderly woman brought up her staff, and struck the four men at once with a relatively weak, but still painful, lightning attack. “Silence, male,” she growled, lowering her staff. “I am Mistress Dratha, Councillor of House Telvanni.”
“Dratha?” Alderin asked, furrowing his brow. “Wait a minute, I’ve heard about your wrinkly old ass from my dad and Fyr!”
“Yes, I’m fully aware of who your father is, High Elf,” Dratha spat, unimpressed. “Olothan, and that old fool Divayth, always tinkering with their worthless inventions. Pathetic.”
“You mind if I ask what the hell is going on here?” Nathan asked, utterly dumbfounded. “Why the hell did you capture us, and what’s the deal with Netta?”
“Your companion has merely been shown the light, Imperial,” Dratha muttered in response, glancing over at Netta. The young Dunmer gave an affirmative nod. “She now knows, like the others in Tel Mora, that the four of you are sick. Diseased.” She narrowed her eyes. “Infected.”
“Oh boy,” Alderin sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t like where this is headed...”
“Infected with what?” Nathan asked, slightly reserved.
“With the disease of manhood,” Dratha explained, as she began to pace back and forth in front of the men. “You see, all men are the carriers of a horrific disease. One that makes you slow minded, violent and unreasonable.”
“Says the woman who’s just forcibly abducted four people, brainwashed another, and is convinced that males are some new kind of Corprus beast,” Slade pointed out grumpily, only to have the group subjected to another jolt of electricity.
“Fortunately for you, however,” Dratha continued, glancing at the end of her staff as it flared a dark purple. “I have found the cure to your ailment.”
All four men perked up simultaneously, with Slade being the only one who’s eyes weren’t visible to be seen bulging. “Wait, what?” Nathan asked, pressing his back against the wall.
“Admittedly, the spell is only in its experimental stages,” the elderly woman explained, pointing her staff at the men. “But I am confident that it will cure all four of you, and restore you to your pure, natural states.”
“Holy shit, guys...” Alderin began, his expression worried. “This doesn’t look good...”
“Now just relax. This won’t hurt a bit...” Nathan instinctively clamped his eyes shut as Dratha thrust her staff forward, and launched a large ball of purple light at the foursome.
Drum roll, please...
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Post by Vicorva on Oct 4, 2009 7:48:59 GMT
Hehe, they're being made into women...
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Post by DarkNova50 on Oct 6, 2009 19:39:54 GMT
Well, I'm glad you find the prospect so amusing, Illusionary...
_____________________ _____________________
Chapter 8: Covert Ops[/u] The Humanity...
Hey, you. Wake up already.
“Huh? Who are you talking to? Me?”
No, I’m talking to the other guy in here. Stop listening to our conversation, you jackass.
“Alright, I get the point. Yeesh...guess I should see if the others are okay, huh?”
If you mean Bruno and Alderin, they’re already gone. Dratha took them.
“What? How do you know that?”
Just trust me.
“Great. So, now what?”
Isn’t it obvious? Wake up.
Nathan’s eyes slowly cracked open, and he grit his teeth as his head throbbed with pain. Though his vision was blurry, he recognized the unique architecture of the Telvanni tower they had been in earlier, with its organic looking walls and floor. And, also to his disappointment, he could feel the cold metal of his restraints against his wrists; they must have kept him chained up after Dratha launched her spell.
Wait a sec...the spell![/b]
Nathan frantically looked down at his body, examining it carefully, and gave a sigh of relief as he realized that he was indeed still himself. “Glad to see you’re awake,” a distinctly male voice came from his right. Nathan quickly glanced over to see Slade, still in the position he had been in prior to his blackout. Bruno and Alderin, however, were nowhere to be seen.
Nathan gave a slight nod to the ex-Speaker. “Yeah, you too,” he replied, before glancing at the two empty spots. “Alderin and Bruno?” he asked curiously.
“Already gone when I came to, I’m afraid,” the blonde-haired man replied with a slight shrug. “If I had to guess, I’d say that they decided to move them after the spell hit them.”
“I guess so,” Nathan replied, cringing slightly at the thought of a female version of both Alderin and Bruno. “So, Dratha’s spell doesn’t like Imperials too much, eh?”
Slade gave a slight nod in reply. “Today is indeed a glorious day to be proud of our shared heritage, my friend,” he pointed out. “Of course, now it’s up to us to get the hell out of here, and figure out just what is going on.”
“Swell,” Nathan grumbled, rolling his eyes. “I guess it beats getting stuck in a dress, though,” he observed casually. “So, any good ideas?”
Slade’s features furrowed noticeably as he considered the request, before tightly pursing his lips. “Well, I suppose there is one thing I could try,” he pointed out, his tone hesitant. “But, I’m kind of reluctant to use it, frankly.”
“I don’t think we have much choice at this point!” Nathan exclaimed in response, pulling angrily at his restraints. “If you’ve got an idea, I say you go for it.”
Slade gave a slight, unenthused sigh. “Very well, then,” he replied, before giving Nathan an unsettlingly serious glare. “But, if you ever tell anybody about what I’m about to do, I’m going to rip out your intestines, use them to tie you up, and drown you in a bucket of your own excrement.” He tilted his face down slightly. “Do we understand each other?”
“Uh, sure,” Nathan replied, arching a single eyebrow in both scepticism and curiosity, unsure of what exactly Slade was planning to do.
“Alright...here goes,” Slade grumbled, taking in a deep breath. The Imperial was still for a brief moment, as if collecting his thoughts, before he utterly broke down: the man let out a series of pitiful cries and sobs, his face one of complete grief and misery. Nathan forced himself as far away as his restraints would allow.
It didn’t take long before the Breton in the green dress from earlier stepped into the room, looking curiously at Slade. She glanced over at Nathan, her glare harsh and inquisitive. “What the hell is going on in here?” she asked sternly.
“Beats the hell outta me!” Nathan yelled over Slade’s incessant wailing, agitated.
“I...I don’t know w-what’s wrong! I-I’ve got all these f-f-feelings and stuff!” Slade exclaimed miserably between sobs, barely able to keep his head level. “And I think I j-just need somebody to talk t-to!” He bit at his lower lip for a moment, managing to hold back the sobs, before breaking down again. “I’m just so lonely!”
“Oh brother...” Nathan muttered, shaking his head. “Would you look at yourself, man? Think of your dignity!”
“Shut up!” the Breton barked at Nathan, her expression angry. “You could learn a thing or two from your friend here!” Her expression softened as she turned to Slade, and slowly approached him. “It’s alright,” she explained sympathetically to the wailing Imperial, placing a single hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to be just f-“
The woman’s words were cut short as Slade abruptly ended his wailing, and forcefully rammed his forehead into the Breton’s. The guard was immediately knocked cold, and fell to the floor in front of him, the keys to their restraints visible on a large loop on the woman’s hip.
“Feelings...” Slade grumbled, managing to extend his foot far enough out to put the tip through the ring, before kicking it upwards, catching the keys in his mouth. “Right.” He quickly began to work on his restraints.
“Holy crap, man,” Nathan replied, his tone a mixture of awe and uncertainty. “That was...unexpected. And surprisingly convincing,” he observed.
“Well, my cover was once that of a member of a troupe, travelling Vvardenfell,” the man pointed out, finishing with his restraints and beginning the work on Nathan’s. “I don’t think I need to tell you what happened to people who gave me a bad review.”
“No, you misunderstand,” Nathan replied as he was set loose, rubbing his wrists. “I meant that was really convincing, you know?”
“What are you getting at?”
“Something you want to talk about?”
“No,” Slade growled, heading for the doorway to the chamber. Nathan quickly followed, and they peered into the adjoining hallway. There was another empty chamber opposite theirs, as well as a third unoccupied room to their right. In the centre of the corridor, there was a single hole, directed downwards; the Telvanni equivalent of a staircase.
The Imperial duo quickly moved into the room opposite theirs, and found a large wooden cabinet against the far wall. Nathan moved forward and opened it, finding the container unlocked, and found both his Dwemer claymore, and Slade’s steel crossbow inside. Alderin’s staff and Bruno’s hammer were both absent, however.
“Wow...they didn’t even bother locking the stupid thing?” Slade asked as he hefted his crossbow, and attached his satchel of bolts to his belt. “Not only is that sloppy, but it’s downright retarded.” With expert precision, he loaded a bolt into his weapon.
“Well you heard Dratha, didn’t you? She isn’t too fond of men,” Nathan countered, wrapping his hands around the hilt of his blade. “She probably figures that the two of us are too damn stupid to open a cabinet by ourselves, or even manage to get ourselves loose, for that matter.”
Slade gave a slight shrug in reply, before the two of them headed for the hole leading down through the tower, and looked through its length. The drop was a long one, and presumably would take them to the ground level of the structure.
“Alright,” Nathan began, pursing his lips. “All we need to do is figure out a way to get down there, and-“ He stopped abruptly midsentence when Slade casually jumped down, through the hole, landing gracefully on the floor. He looked up at Nathan with an unemotional gaze. “What the...how the hell did you do that!?” Nathan barked in disbelief.
“As far as jumps go, this isn’t that long,” the man replied simply. “We need to get moving, Nathan. Just bend your knees, and jump.”
Nathan grumbled slightly under his breath, but bent his knees nevertheless. He figured that he didn’t really have much choice anyway; it was either this, or end up one of Dratha’s brainwashed lackeys. He took one deep breath, leapt down the length of the vertical passage, and-
Gave a pained grunt as he landed, and a distinct crunch came from one, or possibly more, of his joints. His eyes rolled back slightly, and his arms shook with pain and frustration.
“You alright?” Slade asked, looking curiously at him.
“Nothing a crate full of healing potions can’t fix,” Nathan growled in reply, placing a hand on his aching back. “Let’s just get moving, alright?”
The two of them silently crept through the passages of the tower, noting that every room seemed to be empty; Nathan couldn’t help but wonder where the women had all fled to. The two Imperials made their way to the only actual door on the floor, and slowly pushed it open. As they did so, the first thing Nathan noticed was the inky blackness of the night sky overhead, the door having taken them outside. This was followed closely by his noticing a massive gathering of women, in some kind of twisted town meeting, near the docks.
“Uh oh,” Nathan mumbled, as he and Slade looked at each other. “Now what? If we start trying to snoop around and fix whatever the hell Dratha broke, they’re gonna notice us.”
Slade furrowed his brow for a moment, thinking. “Perhaps,” he replied, before readying his crossbow. “But not if they’re only after one of us. I can keep them distracted out here, while you find whatever it is that’s making them all crazy,” he suggested.
Nathan hesitated anxiously for a moment, before he gave a reluctant nod of approval; he didn’t much like the idea of their already divided group splitting up, but he didn’t have any better ideas at the moment. “Alright, I’ll do what I can,” Nathan offered.
“Alright, good. I’d try looking in the basement of one of the towers around here; mages love that kind of crap,” Slade pointed out, before beginning to sneak off.
“Slade!” Nathan said in a loud whisper, before the Imperial was out of earshot. “Try not to kill any of them, okay? They’re the victims of mind control...so try to keep them alive.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Slade grumbled back, his face bordering on slight shock. “They’ve got to outnumber us at least five dozen to one, and you’re telling me not to kill any of them?”
“That’s right.”
Slade shook his head in disbelief, his gaze drifting upwards. “You say don’t kill any of them...” he began, before bringing his gaze back down. “But what about a non-lethal dismembering?”
“Dammit, Slade!” Nathan growled angrily in response.
“Alright, alright,” the assassin replied, before heading off again. “But you know, you’re really stifling my creativity, here...”
As Nathan watched Slade sneak off to distract the horde of women, an unsettling realization came over him. For the first time since he’d left the Imperial City with the others...he was actually alone.
Well, I wouldn’t say you’re completely alone. But for now, you should try searching that bar, The Covenant. Wouldn’t you agree?
Nathan grumbled slightly as he placed a single hand against his head, feeling slightly disoriented for a moment. He looked up and scanned the various buildings in Tel Mora, and remembered the bar that he and the others had gone to when they first got there, The Covenant. It seemed as good a place as any to start his search, he supposed, and he slowly snuck his way down the steps and towards the building, hoping that Slade would soon begin his work.
Nathan noticed that the bar was empty when he entered, the tables and counters still littered with half full drinks and partly eaten food. Confident that he wasn’t about to be found out, he got to his feet and headed behind the counter, searching for anything that might be seen as suspicious. He noticed that there was a slight bulge in the carpet where the bartender would normally stand, and so removed it to reveal a small wooden trap door.
“Hackdirt,” he whispered quietly to himself with a grin, before creaking open the small door and heading down.
________________________________________
The underground passageways beneath Tel Mora were little more that massive tunnels moving through the earth, with odd, organic looking supports keeping the compacted dirt from caving in. Long torches had been planted into the ground, and provided some degree of illumination as Nathan crept through the passages.
The Imperial kept his grip tight on his weapon, although he hadn’t run into any signs that there was anybody down here but him as of yet. The eerie stillness of the place bothered him; although he hated to admit it, he would’ve even welcomed one of Alderin’s irritating complaints right now.
After several minutes of walking, Nathan came to a fork in the road, with the passage splitting left and right. He looked between the two paths, which looked very much similar to one another, before deciding to take the left passage.
I wouldn’t do that, if I were you. You should try the right path instead.
Nathan paused a moment, re-evaluating his choice, before glancing to his right. On second thought, he figured that right seemed the better choice after all, and headed that way instead. After heading down the passage a bit further, he considered himself fortunate he did; he could hear the faint murmur of guards speaking to one another on the other side of the compacted dirt wall.
He continued down the passage for another few minutes or so, before entering a large, dark chamber, with large purple crystals lining the walls in messy, uneven rows. There was a small fountain in the middle of the room, with an outcropping of crystals glimmering elegantly in the centre of the water. Nathan gave a slight whistle at the beauty of the room, before noticing a small, circular door on the other side of the chamber.
He carefully made his way around the fountain in the room, and headed for the door, letting the tip of his sword glide through the packed dirt floor. He placed his hand on the single handle for the copper door and tried opening it, but it was no good. “Dammit,” Nathan growled bitterly. “Locked.”
Look out behind you!
Nathan had a sudden sensation that something was behind him, and jerked his head quickly to the left. A split second later, the tip of a silver spear raced past his face, through where his head had just been. He quickly sidestepped to the left and spun around to face his attacker, his blade at the ready.
A few feet from where he now stood was Netta, still adorned in the red dress from earlier, an angry snarl on her face as she withdrew her spear and held it ready. And Nathan also noticed that she wasn’t alone; a blonde-haired female Nord, with a black dress and an Orcish warhammer, along with an Altmer female with a white dress and a staff stood on either side of the fountain in the middle of the room, their gazes confrontational.
“Oh, shit,” Nathan growled miserably, cringing slightly as he made the mental connection. His missing comrades, their misplaced weapons... “Bruno? Alderin?” he asked the Nord and Altmer respectively, almost fearing the response.
“Shut up!” Netta barked, narrowing her eyes angrily. “Those names are unclean, used before they were cured,” she explained, before glancing back at her associates. “Now, they have new names...Bridgette and Aldera.” The two women behind the Dunmer nodded in approval.
Nathan’s head drooped, and he miserably clenched shut his eyes. “Dammit...this is bumming me out so hard,” he complained. He looked up to the threesome, his former comrades, and his face took on a pleading expression. “Guys, listen to me. You two have been magically transformed into women, and now all three of you are being brainwashed, making you impulsive and unreasonable!”
“You bastard,” the Nord woman growled, stepping forward with her hammer at the ready. “You know, Mistress Dratha only wanted to help you...cure you of a disease.”
“But now,” piped in the Altmer, readying her staff. “It seems you’re intent on being a nuisance...leaving us little choice but to kill you...”
“You see!? Completely unreasonable!” Nathan exclaimed, before looking hopefully at Netta. “C’mon, Netta...you’ve gotta remember all we’ve been through together! The jokes, the fighting...the completely misplaced optimism!?”
“Sorry, Nathan,” the Dunmer replied, although her tone indicated she was anything other than sorry. “But you’re becoming quite the pain in the Mistress’ side. And that means we have no choice...but to remove you.”
Talking isn’t going to work with them. Not now. The spell’s hold on them is too strong. You’ve got no choice but to fight.
Nathan came to the realization that he had no choice but to fight; the spell that was affecting them was too strong, and they weren’t going to listen to talking. He reluctantly readied his claymore, and glared at the triad as they readied for their attack.
“Alright, then...let’s do this.”
Not so friendly fire...
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