Fingers thrummed idly upon the spine of the unmarked book. The woman to whom the fingers belonged was watching the door to her quarters at the inn, as though waiting for someone to walk in at any moment. She knew she was in no danger, though. Not from these cretins that worked under her, anyway. They were tough, but none of them had the guts to try and stand against her.

Her other hand rose, a finger tracing the small scar that marred her left cheek. It was an eternal reminder of the battle she'd fought, several months ago. The fight that had changed everything... the fight that had elevated her beyond her former, much lower station. The chief hadn't been too pleased with her challenge, but he accepted it nonetheless. His twin swords had been blocked at every swing, slash and thrust - barring the one strike over her cheek.

In the time it took him to gloat at the single wound he'd finally managed to inflict, she'd driven her greatsword through his heart. His last expression had been one of contempt and disbelief; hers had been a twisted smirk.

Since then, she'd decided to expand her influence. Once she asserted her dominance as the new chief of the bandits she'd been working with, she began to branch out, making offerings to other groups. Those that accepted her offerings agreed to work under her; those that refused were paid a visit, where she fought their leader and killed them.

Though the bandits continued to do their own thing, for the most part, she effectively led all the bandits of Skyrim, at least those she was aware of. Something happened to one or more of them, she learned of it very quickly and reacted accordingly. There was little she could do if an entire hideout was eradicated, short of sending another group to claim the hideout once more. Some of the hideouts were conveniently located throughout Skyrim, made for decent outposts, to a point.

For all she'd accomplished, though, she was still trying to figure out why her... 'partner' had told her to take over her original group. She'd given it much thought over the past several months, but not once did Clavicus Vile's first 'task' make sense. If he was looking for revenge, why did she need to lead a group of bandits?

She glanced down at the book. Upon completing his first task, the first few pages of the book had been filled with text. She had read it quickly, curious as to what the book was - what manner of 'incentive' it could possibly be. All that had been revealed, however, was old news: it pertained to the Oblivion Crisis, two hundred and ten years ago. She failed to see what relevance the Oblivion Crisis had to any of this. She wasn't going to confront him on it just yet, though; there were more pages to fill in the book, and that alone kept her interested enough to think that serving the Daedric Prince may yet be a lucrative venture for her. Of course, if the next few pages were all boring, she would either demand an alternate reward for her next task... or cut ties with him altogether. She wasn't sure yet.

On her last visit to his shrine, a couple weeks ago, he'd told her about the next task: identify points throughout Skyrim where 'magical energy sleeps'. He hadn't bothered to emphasize any further, though, leaving her to her own guesses.

Rather than flounder helplessly, she had decided it was time to make some bolder moves. The bandits under her direct control were running low on supplies, and she'd ordered a raid on Rorikstead one week ago. It had initially been intended to restock their food and drink supplies... but once the guards had fallen in a matter of moments, another idea struck her.

Why leave with supplies when they could just move on in unopposed and have constant access to those same supplies? The farmers didn't dare raise a weapon against any of the bandits, meaning they had pretty free reign throughout the community.

It was a strategic location for her to hold, too. Ever since the dragons had returned, the people of Rorikstead had taken to constructing a wall around the village, to keep threats out. Gates had been constructed on the east and west sides of the village. The wall had been built to resemble the walls at Riverwood: walkways on top, with views of the roads beyond. Perfect for archers to keep an eye out for approaching dangers.

It hadn't been quite enough to keep the bandits out, though. She had led the charge and broke through the gate with force. By the time the guards from the other end of Rorikstead had reached the eastern side, it was too late.

She had since ordered the bandits to hold the town. 'No one gets in, no one gets out.' She was determined to keep it that way for as long as she was able.

Exceptions had been made, of course. Those bandits beyond Rorikstead's walls that followed her had visited a couple of times with messages. The last messenger, whose visit was two days ago, had said that there was someone with important information for her, and that they were on their way to Rorikstead to visit her. She had been dubious at first, but the messenger had also stated that the visitor-to-be had known her name. This alone had caught her attention, as she wasn't in the habit of introducing herself. The curiosity got the better of her, and she told the bandits who watched Rorikstead's wall to let in anybody who could provide her name.

She, in the meantime, was growing restless. Over the past couple of days, she'd taken it fairly easy, making sure Rorikstead's supplies would last them quite a while yet. She knew that eventually, the people of Whiterun would realize their supplies from Rorikstead had dwindled, and someone would be sent to investigate; that was the biggest source of her restlessness. When someone was sent, how many would come? One? An army? Whiterun guards, mercenaries, passing adventurers?

The door opened without any sort of warning - no knocking, no request to enter. Seeing the door move made her jump in surprise; her hand had shot from the book to the hilt of her greatsword, and she was on her feet about a second later.

"Who-"

The open door revealed a figure clad in a black robe, with a hood up over their head. She couldn't tell if they were male or female just yet; she could see the lower part of their face, but the chin was bare.

"You're not one of my men," she growled.

"I am the one you have been expecting," said the voice, that of a male. The accent, the tone... it sounded Imperial, but she doubted he truly was. Ulfric had kept almost all Imperials out of Skyrim since he'd become High King, after all.

"Prove it."

He reached up and pulled the hood back just enough for her to see his face. A crooked nose, blue eyes... and he looked fairly young. Certainly a few years younger than she was. He was no one she recognized, however, and the grip on her sword tightened.

"It's a pleasure to meet you... Larian."

The use of her first name - by a complete stranger - made her hand relax upon the blade's hilt, but she didn't remove it.

"Who did you bribe for-"

"No one, miss Ravell."

The last name prompted her to lower her hand slowly. She didn't trust him, nor did she think she ever would... but for now, he'd proven to be the one she was expecting.

"Doesn't sound like a typical Breton name," he added, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Hands where I can see them," she commanded, hand shifting back up to her blade. "Not all Breton names need to sound the same, for that matter. Who are you, how do you know my name, and what do you want?"

"A... 'friend' told me about you, and wants me to help you."

She could imagine only one individual thinking she needed help with the only task she'd been given in recent times. A frown crossed her lips briefly.

"Tell Clavicus Vile I can handle-"

"You don't know where to start with your search, do you?" he interrupted. Were it not for his words being true, she would have been angry with him for interrupting her. "I can help with that. I can't pinpoint anything from here, but I can help nonetheless."

"Am I to believe you're a mage, then?" she asked tentatively. Her hand lowered as his own hands returned to view, nothing clasped in either. If he was a mage, though, it wouldn't matter if his hands were empty or not. She wondered how quickly she could draw her blade and run him through if magic appeared in his palms.

"I am," he replied.

"What's your connection to Clavicus?" she asked. She noticed his gaze flick to the book, and she moved to block it from his view, silently telling him to pay it no mind.

"I serve him, same as you. Perhaps not the same, though. It's obvious he favors you a little more."

"What sort of deal did you strike up with him?" The question was out of her mouth before she could bite it back. It was none of her business, but her curiosity had taken hold. Larian contemplated telling him he didn't need to answer, but she didn't want to come across as kind, or soft. Anything of the sort was a weakness, a liability. She had to cover those if she wanted to stay alive.

"Typical kind. I help him with something, he helps me with something in return."

He was offering no details. She couldn't blame him for that; she didn't want to go into specifics as to the details of her own bargain with Clavicus Vile.

"Why Rorikstead?" he asked, gesturing about the interior of the inn.

"Supplies," she replied shortly. "Why bother raiding the town when we can take it and have constant access?"

"Ah. A fair point." He looked around briefly, and with an air of disinterest. "Winter is coming, of course."

"I'm aware," she responded. Her guard was rising once more; why was he speaking so casually with her? Was he trying to lull her into a false sense of security? She had felt tense ever since he'd opened the door, and nothing he'd said or done so far had eased that tension yet. She didn't trust him in the slightest yet; barging into her room hadn't helped that matter.

"Of course. You've lived in Skyrim for... what, nine years now?"

"My past is none of your business," she snapped.

"You've been a bandit for fifteen years, though. Something happen in High Rock-"

The tip of her blade was suddenly less than an inch from his nose.

"Leave it be," she growled, "or I kill you where you stand."

Even despite the threat to his life, the Imperial chuckled.

"Not everyone begins a life of banditry at eleven years old," was all he said. Before she could thrust the blade into his face, though, he backed up a few steps. "Now, on to business."

She definitely didn't trust him. She definitely didn't like him. She most certainly did not want his help with this matter, but she had no other reliable means of identifying any sort of 'sleeping magical energy', or whatever it was she was supposed to be looking for. As much as she longed to kill the Imperial in his sleep for stepping over several boundaries, she couldn't deny she needed his help... for now.

"Who are you?" she finally asked. She wasn't going to let him get away with staying anonymous to her while he knew who she was. He knew her name, and somehow, he knew her past. Both, undoubtedly, had to do with Clavicus Vile somehow... because if the Daedric Prince wasn't involved, then this Imperial was the creepiest stalker she'd ever met in her life, and he'd be dead once he pointed her in the right direction.

"For now, my name isn't important," he replied. He was ready to continue speaking, but the sudden prick of her greatsword upon the tip of his nose, drawing a tiny bead of blood, silenced him. Larian was surprised - perhaps even a little impressed - that he didn't flinch away from the blade... but it wasn't enough to quell her growing dislike of him.

"Let me rephrase that," she snapped. "Tell me your name, or I'll dump you in an unmarked grave later tonight."

"You need my help."

"I can always coerce another mage to do my bidding." Her expression reflected her thoughts; she was daring him to continue withholding his name. She was right, too. She could easily find, kidnap, terrify and coerce a random mage to help her with this matter. An uncooperative, self-proclaimed 'servant of Clavicus Vile' who knew too much about her was something she did not want to deal with.

"Derrick."

"Last name?" she pressed. She longed to shove the blade further ahead and into him, but restrained herself.

"I don't remember."

She scoffed, but his expression made her believe it was the truth.

"The second you remember, you will tell me," she warned. "Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Imperial. I'm in charge here. If you try to tell me what to do, I will kill you."

"Duly noted."

She lowered her greatsword, and he moved his hand up to touch the spot where she'd pierced his nose.

"As you said, to business. Why should I believe you can help me with this, and that I need you to get it done?"


A.N. - Not a ton to say here. That's primarily because I've been feeling rather ill for the past few weeks. Well, 'sleepless', primarily... but the past week has seen me with an overall loss of appetite; eating anything makes me feel nauseated. No idea whatsoever what could be wrong, but eh... It hasn't affected my ability to write, but it has gotten me down lately.

Larian Ravell. It didn't seem like a typical Breton name, but then again, I didn't write Larian to resemble a typical Breton, either (not that I know what a 'typical Breton' is like to begin with... ^^; ). A Breton with no real talent for using magic was the overall theme I went for with Larian. When I first created her a few months ago, it was as a 2H barbarian character. AS:LAL randomly dropped her off at Four Skull Overlook (I think that's the name?) out in the Reach as a bandit, and... well, everything just developed from there. Visually, she became one of my absolute favorite characters. (I had a handful of screenshots of Larian, but then the computer crashed, and now they're lost.) She was also created as... well, not a 'counterpart', per se, but a 'complementary' character to someone else who will be making an appearance here in Eventide. She's a counterpart insofar as her moral alignment, which is obviously 'less than good'. (Gods, I really wish I still had the screenshots... so very sad they're lost. x.x )

Derrick was a rather uninspired name for me to come up with. I contemplated giving him a last name right off the bat, since he's going to be something of an important character in the chapters to come, but I just couldn't think of one. Not even sure I'll keep his name as 'Derrick'; it may well be an alias on his part! :P They both want to be in charge of the other, but Larian's not having any of it. The fact that he knows so much about her already, though, and she knows nothing about him but his name and his 'master'... he does have a leg up on her with that. She's resourceful, though, and clever... very, very clever. Crude at times, particularly when it comes to personality, but clever.

The graphics of Skyrim on the 360. Oh gods, make the bleeding happening in my eyes stop! x.x The game itself runs smooth, probably infinitely smoother than it ever ran on a PC... but the graphics are worse somehow. Not just that, but there's all that DLC I'm missing out on... all those mods... *whines* I keep wondering if it's somehow possible to get mods onto a 360 hard drive and get it to work that way, somehow, but I somehow doubt my luck is that good. Then there's the... well, television. I used to play Skyrim on a fairly big and chunky TV (you know, the 'big rounded blocks' that existed before flat-screen TVs). The picture detail was horrid, but the sound was good. Why is sound so important? Because the new, flat and smaller TV I have (got it for Christmas a couple years ago) is horrible with sound. If there are speakers on the right side, they aren't working properly. I've exhausted all possible avenues trying to identify a method through which I could get the sound to play clearly from both sides of the TV, but no such luck. Until then, I'm stuck turning my character so the left 'ear' faces all conversations, and thus I can hear everything clearly. (Seriously, a couple of the characters I've created? I imagine they're deaf in the right ear to better 'fit' the sound discrepancy.) The speakers can't handle sudden 'spikes' in sound, either. The music can be playing quietly... but soon as, say, a lockpick breaks in the lock (damn you, Expert/Master level locks! . ) that sound is LOUD and drowns out all other sound. The sound stops playing for a couple seconds while the system 'recovers' from the sudden 'spike' in sound, and the music resumes shortly thereafter. (If I'm not playing a stealth character, or I'm wandering the wilds of Skyrim by day, I depend on the music changes to let me know 'oh shit, something's trying to kill me!' - that way, I can react accordingly and NOT be bitten in the ass by a wolf/skeever/saber cat/bear/anything else.)

On the flip side, it has helped me rediscover a bunch of stuff about Skyrim that I'd forgotten about. Did the Civil War questline last night on a new, pure mage character - sided with the Empire because 'why not?'. Found what looks like an abandoned giant camp... I want to say northwest of Loreius Farm, with a couple poachers hanging out there. Never knew they existed before. Found a surface ruin - can't remember the name - with nothing there but a chest hidden behind a wall. Think that was in Hjaalmarch, but it might've been in the Pale; I was bouncing back and forth between the border of the two, and it was near Stonehills. Agonizing as the experience has been, it's been fun all the same.

Still can't wait to buy a new computer that runs Skyrim like a dream, though, because it's infinitely better on a PC - if only for the mods.

You ever finish writing a chapter, think 'this is really good', then find yourself going 'but is it really? what if it could be so much better than it is? should I delete and rewrite the entire thing? no, I wrote all this... I could just go back and change a few things... but what?' That's happening with Eventide's 4th chapter. It's written and done, and I personally like it... but at the same time, I can't help but feel like there's something that could be changed somewhere to make it better. Short of rewriting it, I have no idea. It'll be up next week all the same. Hopefully I can write out the next few chapters over the course of the week. (Not that it's going to be difficult to find inspiration to write, it's just this nausea that's slowly starting to get to me and makes me not want to write more often than not. When I do write, it's not hindered; it's just my drive to write.)

One of my longer ANs in a while, but eh. Things happen.

-Spiritslayer