The diamond arrow(bullet) in this chapter was borrowed from Apocalypse Now; it was just too perfect to ingnore!
Chapter 3 - Whispers in the Dark
Lucien blinked. He had refreshed his nighteye/detect life spell, and, as he'd expected, a purplish glow had gradually suffused the area his mysterious attacker was occupying, signifying that she was indeed alive. But now, as they circled, he began to realise that the glow hadn't stopped spreading, that it was bleeding into the air around her, masking her movements. This was new.
A soft whoosh and a blur indicated she had gone on the offensive, so Lucien slipped to the side. The glow was occupying most of his view now, blinding him; only his peripheral vision remained clear, though that too was fading fast. Cursing silently, he dispelled the magicka maintaining the spell, focusing hard on his other senses whilst preparing to cast a standard nighteye spell.
A pit-pat to his right told him to back off quickly, but disorientated, he backed into his chair, stumbling and losing his spell. Obviously this creature could see perfectly in the pitch black, because she pressed forward quickly. Intuition borne of a thousand battles made him block a head shot, but in his blindness he overreached, and he felt her blade slice through his glove and nick his hand.
He withdrew like lightning and rolled backwards with the blow, but in that instant he had glimpsed something. It was over in an instant, but it was like he had been shot with a diamond arrow, right through his forehead. It was perfect, genuine, complete, crystalline, pure. Clear. Clear as a perfect cloudless midnight.
But the harder Lucien strained to focus on this vision the more it slipped away; like sand through dry fingers. Like trying to catch smoke.
Suddenly frantic, he realised he should be dead by now. He'd been messing around on the floor for several seconds, too long. Now standing stock still, he strained to hear any sound of his attacker. Nothing. Tensing every muscle in his body in preparation for the coming attack, he cast nighteye. Nothing.
The hallway was empty. His ire rising, he strode swiftly back into the library. Empty. Frustration building, he aimed a kick at the chair that had so impeded him. He had been so close! But to what? He wasn't sure. Something powerful, something True.
As the anger at his defeat began to ebb, the realisation crept in that he was in a very uncomfortable position. Literal darkness, the absence of light; that was his medium, his delight, but he absolutely loathed being in the dark. He despised being ignorant, detested asking questions he didn't already know the answer to, and he abhorred being dependent upon other people for the answers.
He knew nothing of his current situation; where he was, anything about this place's civilisations, if there were any, even. And if there was, he was fairly certain they wouldn't speak Cyrodiilic. He knew nothing of the power balance in this new place, what the people valued, what they feared. He was vulnerable, more vulnerable than he had ever been, and he had just lost his first fight in about twenty years. He almost wished he had just taken his chances with the Black Hand. Almost.
But Lucien Lachance was no quitter. He was not afraid, and anger at his predicament hardened into resolve. Whatever kind of place he was in, as long as there was sentience, there would be a demand for his exquisite deathcraft, and he would be only to happy to provide, spreading the icy fist of fear among a new populace, bringing the will of Sithis to bear against new foes. Like the Death Viper from the deserts of Elsweyr, Lucien would survive even in the harshest of conditions.
Fastening the amulet around his neck, he prepared himself for another fight, and touching the black figurine, he whispered "Kushiel."
He thought he felt a slight breeze stir the stale air, but aside from that nothing happened. Fighting against the anger that came bubbling to the surface once more, he growled somewhat louder than before, "Kushiel!"
This time something definitely happened. The breeze became a gust, rippling Lucien's soft black robes, and he thought he heard a whisper on the wind. It echoed softly around the hall, or was it more than one voice? It spoke in words he couldn't understand, but from the unsettling feeling in the pit of Lucien's stomach, message was clear: desist.
Lucien fought the temptation to be petulant, and call the word again. It was foolish to meddle with unknown powers when in such a vulnerable position. Sheathing his weapons, he resolved to find an exit, and discover what kind of place he was in.
xox
After wandering around twisting tunnels and ancient hallways for over an hour, Lucien began to wish he had thought to bring some better provisions. The fruit and small flask of water seemed now to be woefully inadequate. He had explored through rooms filled with musical instruments, few of which Lucien had seen the like of, he had climbed up flights of stairs with ceilings higher than the ones in the Imperial Palace itself. The higher he climbed, the hotter it became, until the heat was so oppresive it was like an invisible barrier, trying to force him downwards, back to the cool.
Lucien pressed on, climbing higher and higher until finally, he reached the top chamber; a strangely empty triangular room. The top of the ceiling was so high up it was lost in the darkness, and the slabs of stone that made up the walls were so large it must have taken a whole regiment of mystics to levitate them into place.
On the far side of the room seemed to be the exit; a large stone door behind which Lucien discovered another wall. The exit was bricked up, not with the gargantuan slabs, but with small head-sized bricks.
Short on patience after the exhausting climb, Lucien began to blast the bricks away with fireballs and shock spells. By the time his magicka had run dry there was a gap big enough to climb through. Nighteye worn off once more, he stepped out into this new world, and even the great Lucien Lachance was staggered by what he saw.
The first thing that hit him was the sunlight. He had left Applewatch at dusk, around eight in the evening, and he had been here less than four hours, yet it was mid to late morning, the sun already high in the sky. Looking around, Lucien couldn't help but be slightly awed at the sight that greeted him.
He seemed to be on the peak of a great pyramidical structure, and just a couple of metres below his feet was a great canopy. Tree tops stretched for as far as the eye could see, undulating, rolling and diving like the waves on a great ocean, mist rising from it in parts. But he had been climbing for more than an hour, which meant that these trees must be taller than even the towering elms of Valenwood. Raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, he gazed around; to the right on the horizon rose some great snowy peaks, their tops lost in clouds; to the left the ground fell away, offering an astounding view of an expansive rainforest, a line of steam in the distance, signifying a great river.
Exhaustion creeping in, Lucien was about to sit down to finish his provisions, the thin air leaving him somewhat breathless, when a shout echoed up out of the tree tops. An angry shout.