(13/2/11) Dear, honoured, loved readers, today I decided whom I am to kill in the Battle for Bruma and the Battle for the Imperial City (you didn't think I'd kill 'em all in one go did ya?). Many of you, were you to be in control of this knowledge, would probably never speak to me again. I offer a prize of pride and a virtual cookie (and the dedication of the entire story) to whomever tells me which OCs I leave alive at the end of this story before the events take place. You might be surprised. Here are your clues: four OCs survive; think outside the box - I have ten OCs in this story, nine of whom will see battle, and nine of whom (a different nine) have already been introduced (or mentioned by name); I did not take the votes for survivors into account - many people will be upset by my decisions; main OCs do NOT have immunity to death, they just might not die until after they have fulfilled their purpose. The Hero of Kvatch is NOT the main character. The main character may still die. Voting closes after chapter 45 (Yes, I have planned that far). Winners (if any) announced in AN of the last chapter.
Also, BiA has overtaken TEOTW on the number of favourite lists it graces. This is good. I prefer this story anyway. The literal year between the posting of the chapters of TEOTW is always a sign I don't like it anymore. I also broke 7000 hits. Good milestone, that. Oh, and 200k words. Nice, though most of those are author notes XD
TEN REVIEWS LAST CHAPTER! (Technically eleven... If you count SneakyDevil, who PM-ed me instead) That makes last chapter the BEST ONE SO FAR. Brilliant. Love to all who reviewed; I hope I don't have to threaten a writing strike again :P
Dedicated to Idledreamcatcher... Did she mention she loves Seanturco?
Chapter 37
Master-Wizard Raminus Polus considered the question of the mage before him carefully, straightening a crease in his blue robes with one hand. "To my knowledge, Caranya decided to travel to Fort Ontus with the Necromancer's Amulet, a powerful relic of Mannimarco's, while Irlav Jarol took off in the direction of Fort Teleman with the Bloodworm Helm. I wish I could offer you more details." He rubbed his chin for a moment. "My suggestion is to speak with Tar-Meena about these forts. Her documentation skills are almost legendary. If not, speak with Phintias in The First Edition in the Market District - he always keeps maps in stock."
Though Seanturco frowned at the prospect of venturing back into the Market District he had to admit that it was probably the best course of action. Besides, nobody knew what had really happened to Calindil, nobody but him. He nodded and left the Tower Lobby, walking swiftly to the Mystic Archives past two scholars speaking of nonsensical things like a thesis on runestones, and two male apprentices who, by contrast, appeared to be talking about that female scholar over there... Seanturco was tempted to turn and see who they were talking about, but he had already reached his destination.
He had been to the Mystic Archives on a few occasions, searching for books or scrolls amongst the massive collection that Tar-Meena kept here. There were hundreds of books here, maybe more, and the University Archivist seemed to be able to keep the undocumentable piles documented precisely without losing her mind and becoming a blithering idiot with serious Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. That was why she sat on the Council of Mages.
The Archives were almost empty today, save for a Breton apprentice who was perched on the edge of a wooden chair, brushing her sandy hair out of her eyes on occasion as she poured over a book on the Art of War Magic. She was muttering to herself on occasion, as if making mental notes in her head. Seanturco thought it best to ignore her and looked around instead for the Master-Wizard, who seemed to be standing behind a pile of books that was almost as tall as she was, running a finger along a shelf that was so crammed with books that one couldn't even fit a nail between them.
"I suppose you wanted something..." Tar-Meena said, not turning around. Her voice was coarse and gravelly but with an underlying and unmistaken tone of extreme wisdom that only came from many years reading many books. Seanturco wouldn't have been surprised if she had read every book in these Archives at least once.
"Raminus Polus told me you might have a map, or at least some personal knowledge, that would help me locate Fort Ontus or Fort Teleman."
The Argonian shook her head and emerged from her domain, stepping over a smaller pile of books to stand before him. "And I suppose Traven wants you to intercept Caranya and Irlav Jarol? If Traven had shown a little authority then they wouldn't need to be intercepted now. Honestly, I don't know what they were thinking promoting..." She stopped and chuckled. "But you didn't come here to talk about Traven's blatant incompetance." She glanced over the Altmer's shoulder to where the Breton apprentice appeared to have stopped reading, an action which caused the girl to hastily turn a page and try to look as though she were reading. "Girl, Traven already knows my views of his methods," Tar-Meena pointed out nonchalently. "Fort Ontus, you might find, is north of Kvatch, and Fort Teleman, to my knowledge, is somewhere near to Leyawiin, in the Blackwood region. Hang on a moment," she disappeared back behind the stacks of books. "I'll find you a map."
The Archivist stepped into an area that was almost completely shrouded in books; suddenly a stack lifted up by a few inches and a scaled hand reached out, snatching the document from between them as the pile returned to normal, swaying slightly due to the sheer height and volume of the books.
She didn't even open the paper, she just presented it to the Altmer with a small nod. "This map will show you to all the fort locations in Cyrodiil, and a few on the Cyrodiil-Morrowind border. The University does have extra copies, but will not be providing you with another, so I can only reinforce the need for due care and attention." A strange grin crossed her reptilian features. "Good luck completing Traven's work. Remember: trust no-one. Traven checks for necromancers now, but he never checked existing members, did he?" Tar-Meena pulled the wooden door open smoothly and ushered him out, the hinges creaking slightly and emitting a highly unpleasant sound that she seemed to ignore. "Stay vigilant, High Elf. Even Traven's most trusted are capable of betrayal."
She slammed the door with perhaps more force than was necessary, leaving Seanturco strangely alone in the courtyard now that most of the other mages appeared to have left, perhaps for lunch or to their private research. The small Breton mage appeared from the Mystic Archives after him, and pushed her sandy hair out of her face once more as she scurried past him clutching three thick leather-bound books, travelling into the training room with unnecessary speed.
If Seanturco didn't know any better, he would have said that all of the mages seemed to know of his stint as a vampire and were avoiding him accordingly, despite the fact that he was cured and there was nothing left of the disease to cause them any harm. Still, he didn't really care what they thought of him, not any more. Before he had been a vampire he might have cared, he might have had some self-respect when it came to befriending and aiding assassins, he might never have been prepared to kill someone, but now? Now he was not half as bad as he was before.
It was strangely liberating being a vampire.
xxx
Despite Shadowmere's restlessness, the progress the pair of women made was horrifically slow. Neither of them were particularly interested in getting to where they were headed, even though duty called them both and tugged at them with iron chains that it had secured around their very souls. The conversation was so sparse between them that it almost seemed not to exist, as though they weren't really riding together at all, but entirely seperate entities who just happened to be moving in the same direction. In truth, Turner had been the glue that held them together, and now they had nothing in common... Nothing but duty.
The Gold Road met the Red Ring Road at a three directional fork, one leading south to Bravil and Leyawiin, one leading north to Chorrol and the Imperial City, and the third leading westwards to Skingrad, Kvatch and Anvil. They travelled northwards, obviously, but they didn't get far before the eerie silence that surrounded them was finally broken.
"I'm not going back to Cloud Ruler with you." No explanation followed, and the silence relapsed for almost five minutes before a reply was formed.
"Where are you going?"
"To keep busy somewhere I'm not called upon to be a hero every five minutes." Idari's lips curled into a slight smirk which twisted into a distinct sneer the more she thought on this notion. "I'll return in two weeks. That will give Martin more than long enough to figure out the last ingredient for this ritual of his."
Jena frowned deeply. "What about the Great Welkynd Stone?"
"You'll take it, of course." A simple answer for a simple question. "Besides, Grandmaster Jauffre trusts you far more than he trusts me. A blind man could see that." She stopped talking and held the stone out to the Blade, but when the Imperial failed to take it she continued. "Take it already," she demanded, her accent sounding slightly thicker than she usually allowed it to be. "It's already caused more trouble than it's worth."
The other woman took it hesitantly, looking at it strangely. "What will you do?" she asked in a low voice, her eyes averted away from the Dunmer instinctively.
"If you already know my profession, then you'll understand that if I told you that, I would have to kill you. If not, then sleep soundly in the knowledge that you have no idea what is going on in my life. Perhaps it would be better that way."
"For what it's worth," Jena began before trailing off suddenly. Then she appeared to decide that she would actually continue that thought. "From experience, I believe Jauffre's distrust of you is misplaced."
Idari looked like she had been hit in the face by a cliffracer for a split second, the surprise causing her to do a full double take, then she recovered and chuckled quietly. "Then you are rather stupid," she said sincerely, though she didn't sound quite like she wanted to believe this fact. She sounded like she wanted to continue but said nothing further until she bade farewell to Jena and allowed Shadowmere to release his pent up energy with an almost unimaginable burst of speed that put distance between them instantly.
The Blade looked down at the stone she had been given and sighed heavily. The Hero had been right, it had been more trouble to retrieve than it was worth, and Jauffre would probably complain no end about their lack of time keeping, especially when she returned alone. She pushed Viatrix to move just a little faster and looked up to see that the Dark Elf had already disappeared beyond the visible horizon.
Her words had been true though. In the past couple of days her perception of the Hero had changed quite drastically, especially in the wake of the injury of Turner. Jauffre wouldn't believe her though; she wouldn't have been sent on this mission at all if the Grandmaster hadn't thought her slightly useless. He'd succeeded in changing her view on life, if nothing else.
xxx
"This horse ain't gonna make it up that hill," Rush stated, pointing an armoured finger at the steep hill in front of them. The old nag had barely made it this far, and any further would probably kill it.
Seanturco looked up at the peak in question and then back at his partner. "You'll have to walk then," he shrugged. "Fort Ontus is up there. Right at the top."
"Your horse ain't gonna make it either," she told him with a wry grin as she dismounted the frail beast and tied it to a nearby tree. "You'd need a demon horse to make it up there."
The High Elf frowned, but generally accepted her statement as true, climbing from his chestnut mare and binding her securely to the same tree. It was funny that the battlemage should mention a demon horse... He could just imagine the Hero of Kvatch powering up this hill with delightful ease on the back of her sleek slightly purple black stallion with burning red eyes and an attitude to match.
The pair started up the steep hill together. Granted, the progress was slower than it would have been if they had been riding, but this way was apparently safer. Apparently, Seanturco felt, was the operative word. Grassy ridges gave way to steep rubble-covered slopes and the Altmer had a horrid tendency of losing his footing, to the extent that the battlemage forced him to walk in front of her to make sure that, if the liking event were to occur, she was in a viable position to catch hold of him before he slid down the entire hill and lost the majority of the skin on his body to those sharp rocks.
Eventually though the grass returned and the slope grew less perilous, and mandrake plants became increasingly common. Above anything the pair dreaded the descent. Trust Caranya to choose a stupid location in the middle of nowhere.
Rush cracked her knuckles loudly as they stood outside the fort, leaning against the white-washed walls with distinctive apathy. She hadn't had any difficulty climbing the slope, her armoured boots apparently having enough grip and her balance apparently being sufficient to stop her from sliding around like an ogre on an ice-rink.
"So I hear you were complaining to Traven again," she said, a smirk pulling at her green lips to reveal large off-white teeth. "It ain't gonna work. The only way either of us would get a new partner is if one of us died. Raminus told me that before you even came back."
"Spare me your words, Orc," Seanturco snapped back. His embarrassment on the slope was enough to put him in a foul mood, despite having to make conversation with somebody he had no particular obligation to get to know. "This is a ridiculous assignment that could have been given to an Associate, let alone a Wizard. Let's get this over with."
xxx
One would think that the Imperial City was the perfect place for a budding thief or a budding assassin to make their mark on society. It was big, and full of people, and the alleyways there were dark and secluded, and the houses had little rooms that were unused and perfect hiding places. However it was not to be. The Imperial City was a difficult place for assassins and thieves due to the increased numbers of guards there; the palace guards were lethal, usually, and the guard captains were brutal in their punishments, sentencing many to rot in the Imperial Prison, or simply to be executed.
Idari Mortha knew this all too well.
Adamus Phillida had arrested her long ago, sentenced her to die for her sins, but his plan had been foiled by the Blades, the Emperor, and Fate. Now he was dead, but there were others in his place, and it didn't pay to grow complacent.
She was only here to pick up her contract anyway.
The Thieves Guild seemed to be coping well without her. She had read of their escapades frequently in the Black Horse Courier, or she had heard rumours. The most recent news had been about the theft of a valuable staff from the Arcane University, but that had been found in the home of one Ontus Vanin and returned, and current rumours claimed that Hieronymus Lex was soon to be reassigned to Anvil. All the thieves in the Guild knew that Lex was the biggest thorn in the Grey Fox's side. Having him gone would help them a lot.
As such, Idari felt no obligation to drop in on the Guild, no reason to go near the Waterfront presented itself, and she slipped into the Market District almost entirely unnoticed. She might have been dressed as your archetypal assassin in jet black armour carrying more than one weapon, but this sort of armour was exceedingly commonplace somewhere as big and diverse as the Imperial City, and after the first few slip-ups the guards there had become inclined to look the other way unless they saw somebody actually commit a crime, or it was reported by a witness. That way was much safer.
The Dark Elf slipped behind Stonewall Shields and looked around to check that she hadn't been seen before double-checking the contract she had been given on Alval Uvani's life, her eyes instantly fixing on the tree stump the instructions were pointing her to. It was hollow, as the contract said, but the covering was so crude that anybody could have found her contract and award for themselves if they had happened to look the right way at the right time.
The money she removed and stuffed into a pocket, spiriting it away for a later date, but the paper she picked up and inspected closely, reading the details on her next target - a Nord living high on a mountaintop. Apparently he had slain the chief of a meadhall and now the chief's sister sought his life, which was a simple enough concept for Idari to understand, being so close to her own brother and having experienced the pain that came with losing a brother. She would locate this Nord quickly and make him pay for his mistakes, but first she had every intention of repairing her shortsword and intended to use her newfound reward to pay for it.
She slipped back out of the small courtyard quickly and managed to blend into the crowd with striking ease despite her ostentatious attire. It was ironic, she thought, that people could be arrested for picking up forks, and yet the guards allowed people who were obviously your stereotypical assassin stroll past them unhindered. Ironic but extremely advantageous.
Now all she had to do was get her sword fixed and head out for some mountaineering. And as a time filling activity, it couldn't sound any more appealing.
xxx
Upon entering Fort Ontus, Seanturco and Rush were met by a young looking Imperial mage who was reading a book with a title that neither of them could see, his feet kicked up on the table in front of him while with his right hand he appeared to be drawing some sort of rune on a piece of parchment. He looked up, eyed the unlikely pair incredulously, and then scoffed.
"Go speak to Caranya," he said, pointing his quill in the general direction of the passageway they were supposed to follow before he returned to his sketching and reading as if they had never been there at all. Seanturco couldn't help but wonder exactly who this Imperial had befriended to be allowed into the University as he took note of the mage's loose, mud-stained robes, and the obvious lack of pride in his appearance, then he looked back at Rush and all these thoughts were stopped in their tracks.
It didn't matter what she wore really, she was still an Orc so he would continue to judge her. He couldn't help it. It was just the way he was. Perhaps things would have been different if he had met her before he had changed into a vampire, and indeed he probably had and had probably dismissed the thought of her as soon as it formed since their paths would never cross... He thought. Still, if ten years ago people had told him that he would one day be spending time as a vampire he would have advised them to seek help from a physician, which just went to show the unpredictability of life.
And it was time he learnt to take nothing for granted.
Rush kept vigilant; in a situation even such as this one, letting one's guard slip could prove fatal, and if she was to protect the two of them then she had to pay extra attention. They passed a group of three or four mages doing something questionable, though try as she may Rush couldn't quite make out what it was, besides, her attention was drawn elsewhere when the Wizard in her care almost stepped right into the path of an ancient darts trap that could easily make him resemble a bloody lump of swiss cheese in seconds. He only had grumbles about her methods of protecting him, which involved picking him up and carrying him several feet across the room before lecturing him about the dangers, but she knew that he would appreciate it one day. His approval didn't matter to her anyway.
Around the corner, more tunnels, more mages, more secretive looking projects. They paused to ask a woman for directions, an Altmer who stood shorter than both of them, her green robes pulled in tightly at her waist with a cord of robe as if to accentuate her slim figure, her golden brown hair loose to her shoulderblades. She was definitely a young one as well, maybe as young as Seanturco - who by High Elven standards was still verging upon childhood - but even he had a air of wisdom about him that she seemed to lack completely.
"Where's Caranya?" Rush grunted at her impatiently. Seanturco scoffed at her lack of tact.
The Altmer smiled, but while the expression was one of warmth there was a certain feeling of coldness that came with it, completely ignored by the Wizard, but easily picked up by the humble battlemage beside him. "Keep following this passage," she said simply, her eyes locked on those of a certain ex-vampire. "It is good of you to join us," she continued, nodding slightly as she spoke, her features lighting up, but again a sinister air behind them. Again Seanturco missed it entirely. She laughed, a sweet sound. "I should get back to my studies, Magister."
The apprentice turned and walked away, a smile fixed on her face. This time it was Rush who scoffed. "She doesn't actually like you. She's flirting with you because you're higher up in the guild than her and she thinks you can secure her advancement. That's probably why she followed Caranya all the way out here."
"Not everyone is that horrifically shallow."
"Not everyone is that obviously a necromancer." A grin accompanied this sentence, but the Orc pushed open a wooden door before Seanturco had an opportunity to reply.
"What do you mean?" he asked after a pause, running up to walk level with her.
Rush gave him a simple reply: "They're all necromancers. Everyone in this fort... Well, all the apprentices we've seen so far. You can tell, they reek of death and they all have a horrible shifty look about them. Only the clever ones cover it up properly..." She shrugged and fell silent and they walked past yet another small group of apprentices, three Breton women who looked similar enough to be sisters.
The Altmer gave them a scrutinising look and tried to sniff the air as subtlely as he could manage, something which only caused the battlemage to laugh. "Trust me," she whispered. "These guys have next to no training. The undead they summoned would either fall apart on contact with Nirn or turn on them and rip them up..."
"And how would you know so much about necromancy?"
The Orc just smiled into the darkness when she heard his blatant accusation. "If I was a necromancer you'd know about it. I'm not one for subtlety."
"I'd noticed."
"And neither, it seems, are you."
She chuckled to herself as the corridor began to flood with light coming from three rusty iron gates leading to a large chamber that was both well lit and high-ceilinged. Separately both Seanturco and Rush reached the conclusion that this was likely the only place were Caranya would see fit to place herself, and they were both separately thinking of a way to reach her that didn't involve any more snaking passages when one of the Breton women came over and tugged gently on the Wizard's light blue sleeve.
"Have you come to speak to Caranya?" she asked, the expression on her face one of almost terrifying joy. "If you can fly..." she began, the creepy expression coming across in her words too. "Then you can jump... down... through the gate." She placed a thin hand on one of the locked gates and muttered a spell to unlock it, pushing it open with one fluid movement.
"Thank you," Seanturco replied with forced politeness. It seemed as if at least some of Rush's words had reached him, because he shied away from the mage's touch instinctively. If all the mages here were necromancers then Caranya probably was too, which led him to wonder exactly why Traven had never picked up on this, despite his claims to have thoroughly checked the members of his guild.
It wasn't a long drop, actually, perhaps seven feet or so, but beneath them was a large stone statue of something that looked suspiciously like a Reman Emperor and two altars upon which lay two heavily decayed corpses. Proof enough. One of Traven's most trusted Master-Wizards was a necromancer.
Seanturco considered turning back when this dawned on him. He was in a fort filled with necromancers, with only a battlemage to help him on a seemingly lost cause to retrieve an amulet that had probably been given to Mannimarco already. Rush however seemed to have other plans, and she jumped across onto a ledge before dropping to the floor, the clanking of her armour drawing Caranya's undivided attention.
Funnily enough, despite the current situation, Caranya still looked nothing like a necromancer. She still wore a blue dress with a golden trim and golden embellishments, she still wore her dark brown hair back in a loose bun. She still wore that slightly disturbing smile as well. Never a good sign.
Seanturco followed the battlemage unwillingly, hopping across the small gap while trying to avoid a bout of something between nausea and vertigo before dropping down to the stone ground slightly to the left of his partner.
"Traven's lap-dog?" the blatant necromancer exclaimed in surprise. "This is quite a surprise. I am glad you have finally seen the light..."
"Don't kid yourself Caranya," Rush replied gruffly. She flexed her fingers instinctively in an attempt to control her intense desire to draw her claymore and gut the High Elf where she stood.
Seanturco frowned, and took a step backwards, his back pressed up against the wall. It was times like these when he wished he was still a vampire with his super strength and super speed, though this thought disturbed him slightly and he pushed it to the back of his mind. "We've come for the Necromancer's Amulet..." he said quietly, somewhat regretting the words as they left his mouth.
The Master-Wizard's face contorted with a mixture of sadness and anger. A hint of surprise was there too, but she should have been expecting this to happen. "I'm afraid you're in over your heads," she said as calmly as she could manage. "I don't answer to Traven anymore. He's a blundering fool. When I give this to Mannimarco his power will be increased and Hannibal Traven will be helpless to stop him. Such a shame it had to end this way... but my students will find your corpses most useful in their studies."
In the time it took Caranya to fire a powerful spell at the pair, Rush had already drawn her sword and was crossing the ground between them, avoiding the spell by simply stepping aside. Yet again Seanturco found himself wishing her were a vampire, as he ducked to one side of the spell, which hit the wall only mere centimetres from the side of his head. He turned around the find himself faced with a necromancer from the Master-Wizard's posse who had been listening in on their conversation.
The 'mage' in front of him was a middle-aged looking Imperial with a hideous snarl and what looked like a recently broken nose. A dagger was clasped in his hand, but he was obviously trying to raise one of the corpses on the altars instead of using it; Seanturco took the pause to his advantage and sent a powerful bolt of electricity ricocheting through the necromancer, who's body contorted in pain and fell to the ground, still twitching as the electricity stimulated involuntary nerve impulses through his muscles. The Altmer's nose wrinkled up at the sight of the corpse and he picked up the knife, knowing his magicka reserves would eventually run out. He had killed with a dagger before. At least this time would be self-defense.
He was standing still when in his peripheral vision he saw one of the disintegrated corpses lumbering towards him, one of its arms dangerously close to falling off while its jaw had been clear torn away, leaving a gaping gap in its already terrifying face. His blue eyes darted about for a sign of the person who was reanimating the corpse, noting that Rush and Caranya still seemed to be locked in some kind of battle, like 'who-can-cast-the-most-spells-before-the-other-dies?'. In order to keep the corpse busy, Seanturco summoned a daedra from Oblivion - he wasn't being specific as to which one, so it was simply whichever appeared first - which appeared to be some kind of dremora, who ran at the zombie keenly.
With the immediate threat somewhat toned down, his blue eyes began searching the area again, and he saw nothing until he looked up at the gate that he and Rush had come through at first. One of the Breton women stood there, magic swirling at her fingertips as she maintained the spell; it wasn't the woman who had spoken to them before, but an older woman with her hair streaked visibly with grey. He cast a spell at her but it bounced harmlessly off of her shield spell as a fireball began to fly towards him from a different gate, so evidently the three of them were going to gang up on him - how simply brilliant! Ducking under the poorly aimed fireball, he sent a bolt of electricity back at the woman who had thrown a spell at him and it broke through her weak shielding easily, knocking her over like a target on a firing range.
There was a pillar of stone in the centre of the room, which he used to easily avoid the barrage of spells that immediately followed the death of their comrade and the tug on his magicka supply ended as the dremora decided upon an inopportune moment to return to its homeland, the zombie battered but apparently still complete enough to continue to drag itself across the floor, a leg hanging by a thread and its chest torn to ribbons, unhealthy green flesh standing away from decaying yellow bones. The Wizard threw fire at it, and the flames engulfed the already dead figure with almost unnatural rapidity; it thrashed about for a few seconds before falling limp as Seanturco heard a string of unsavoury curses follow from the two surviving Bretons as their main weapon was vanquished.
Then there was a pause. Silence, asides for Rush and Caranya. The Altmer found himself wondering how those two were still at it; the two he had killed so far had gone down easily, never to get back up. He couldn't even see them properly, not between the stone pillars and strange necromancer memorabilia that meant nothing to him.
All of a sudden magicka surrounded him, tearing through the air like paper, electricity rippling around both sides of the column, and he found himself cowering instinctively. Oh, if the Hero of Kvatch could see him now... He perished the thought; she would tear him apart for merely thinking of escaping.
A cry followed, a female cry. It sounded like an Altmer and was followed by gurgling and retching, the sound of a blade being removed from a body, a soft wet thud as a body hit the ground. Seanturco was about to go and see what had happened now that the magicka was dissipated when he found himself faced with the same Imperial man he had killed, walking with lumbering footsteps, eyes dead and pale. Looking down at the tiny and somewhat insufficient knife in his hand he gulped and took a step backwards, only to have electricity rip past mere inches from his skin to the extent that he could feel its power emanating into him.
He was stuck between a rock and a hard place... Albeit, an already dead, murderous rock being controlled by a necromancer and a rather painful electrical hard place, but a rock and a hard place nonetheless.
He sent magic through the corpse, but it had little effect save for throwing him off pace slightly. He could almost feel the evil sneer of the necromancer despite the fact that he couldn't see her, he could almost smell his own fear.
And he wished he was a vampire.
It was a sad, terrific fact that faced with death he would want to be what he most despised again. At least, if he were a vampire, he could run fast enough to get away. At least, if he were a vampire, he wouldn't be vulnerable to all the weapons the necromancers had. At least, if he were a vampire, he would have a friend again; a friend to see him through thick and thin, through high and low, through life and through death. Turner had been prepared to die for his friend, and despite being an assassin, Seanturco missed him now more than ever.
The Altmer shut his eyes. This was going to be painful, and he had no desire the drag the torture out by watching himself be torn apart. He didn't particularly want the last thing he ever saw to be the dead face of an Imperial necromancer that he'd killed either, but he couldn't have everything, could he?
Two zaps. Three thuds. A tap on the shoulder. These events were just enough to make him jump clean out of his skin.
Rush only laughed at his reaction. "Don't be such a defeatist," she smirked, raising a gauntleted hand to reveal an amulet with a large blue stone set into it and skulls engraved into its surface. "I thought you would have been fine on your own..." She mocked him openly, taking advantage of his slightly disorientated state to insert her own snide remarks.
And at the precise moment, Seanturco loved her so much that he hated her guts.
"Let's get out of here, Wiz-errd." She pronounced it stupidly, sounding like an idiot in the process. That was the point though. Right now she could tell him that Mehrunes Dagon was a giant pink fluffy bunny bearing happiness to the world and he would believe her without question.
He shook slightly at the comprehension that he was still alive. Blue eyes found the Imperial man, dead once more, saw the body of a Breton woman bleeding heavily on a stone altar, the ledge beneath her apparently having collapsed, toppling her to the floor, noticed Caranya, blood pooling around her. A blade had entered her upper torso at an upward angle, and then been whipped upwards, slicing through flesh, bone and sinew, the magic of the enchantment turning the inside of her chest to liquid. The sight would have made Seanturco want to vomit.
If he hadn't once been a vampire.
Thick green Orcish fingers pried his right hand open with brutish gentleness, and pressed the amulet heavily into his outstretched palm, just enough for reflex to curl his fingers around it so it didn't fall back out. She took a step back and smirked, her hands on her hips for a moment before she drew her magical blade again, the metal free of any signs that it had ever seen battle. "I'll go and deal with the rest of these imbeciles. You just find the door, 'kay? I'll meet yer there."
Rush ran off. She had her weaknesses, of course; since Seanturco had met her he had learnt that she was horrendously long-sighted, meaning she often had trouble seeing things right in front of her face, annoying in combat, but somehow she managed to hide it, she had a strange attitude to life and death that could be described as almost morbid, she lost most of her agility in her bulky, muscular stature. Yet she just coped with them. So why couldn't he?
Maybe it was because Orcs were raised in combat and High Elves were raised in magic. Maybe it was because she had grown up throughout the Warp in the West while he was being mollycoddled on the Summerset Isles. Maybe it was just physiological... Maybe his mind should stop making excuses for his own patheticness.
He followed her with slow feet and a heavy heart, shaken up from his experiences. He stepped over the red-spattered ground in a complete daze, he almost walked straight into the same darts trap as before, but stopped and changed direction just in time. He saw the body of the Altmer who had been flirting with him earlier, her scarily short life at an end, her body crumpled on the ground and covered in electrical burns. High Elves went down easily. They were vulnerable to most magicka out there.
When eventually Seanturco reached the exit, Rush was already there leaning against the wall, her arms folded, her sword sheathed. He blinked at her blankly and she smiled back, cracking the knuckles on her left hand with her thumb. "Better get some practice in before we go to defend Bruma," she told him with a stifled chuckle. "Daedra aren't quite as forgiving as necromancers."
Author Note: Yes, I know. A bloody long wait for a bloody short and bloody awful chapter. Well, I think it's bloody awful. I shall now proceed to give a couple of excuses, because I feel like it... First up, it was half term last week (my school is stupid and retarded so I had half term a week earlier than everyone else) and I could not be bothered to write, I was also waiting for reviews and thus put it off. I got hit in the face with springs from a L58A2 rifle (ie, extremely high powered, solid metal springs with a sharp edge and a kick to them, also covered in OX24 oil, which I'm allergic to), and yes the cut was tiny, but no that didn't stop the blood pouring out of my face for two hours. I'm very lucky to have not lost my right eye, and trust me, you wouldn't have a chapter AT ALL if that had happened. I'm also having a period of MASSIVE creative differences with the directors of my play, who have not read or acted upon ANY of the stage directions and will NOT listen to me! Consequently, my foul mood has ticked off my best friend, who now refuses to speak to me.
I wrote more than 50% of this yesterday. Literally. I had nothing for the first week. It's awful, really... Well, I do like the first bit with Tar-Meena, and I haven't read any of it after that. The perspective changes quite a bit, because I know what's coming, and I know what I needed to happen in this chapter. Oh, and this is the first of four Seanturco-tastic chapters, because angsty ex-vampires are awesome. You should be able to pinpoint those four quests with ease, actually... If enough people ask, next chapter I might give you a list of those ten OCs I'm putting in the Battle of Bruma... If not, you're on your own. HINT: Think one from each faction (NB combat faction. Honestly, who would send a thief into battle?), then think 3 main characters... and then think angsty ex-vampires. Oh, and Jena is NOT an OC. I ran this past my friend, and she suggested Jena. Please don't.
Cheer me up with reviews, and maybe next chapter will be better :) ~ARTY~