Comments and criticisms welcome. If you offer suggestions and I don't reply, I'll have probably edited your corrections into the relevant section. I try to limit my posts to the story itself. Many thanks to Schmuty for providing inspiration to add a new opening paragraph and Pete for helping make this account more lore purist and noticing a typo in Part V for me.

Varis' Venture v I

A storm was rattling the ornate Dunmeri building. There hadn't been one like it in years. The scream of the gale and the roar of the thunder had even drowned out the pitiful moans of the slave workers, who had been penned early because of the conditions. One had tried to escape during the confusion; a Khajiit with salt-matted fur, that disappeared into the blinding driven slurry of salt and torrential rain. Dres guards had caught him on the plantation's perimeter, and brutally clubbed him unconscious. An Argonian with rudimentary knowledge of the school of Restoration had been unshackled just long enough to heal the escapee, simply to ensure his prepared punishment would not kill him come morning.

The plantation manor's portal door slammed shut, and two gaunt Dunmer staggered inside out of the deluge. The pair were ensconced in moulded Chitin armour, then wrapped with decorative scarves to complete the traditional look. The armour of one was custom-crafted, expensive. The other was functional, yet plain. One of them pulled off the resin goggles that protected his eyes, then shook off his turban, briskly beating the material in an attempt to knock loose some of the salt residue that had ground itself in during the storm. Both figures clutched a tightly curled whip in their right hand, and a long spear tipped with yet more sharpened inset carapace in their left. They were silent for a long while, as they set down their weapons and removed segments of the bony armour, reverentially laying it down on the entrance hall's shelves.

There was a male and female, both wearing the traditional seal of Great House Dres on a signet ring and pendant, respectively. After a while, the female mer looked up. “You don’t have to go you know.” Another long silence played out, as he ignored her. She tried again. “They can manage without you. You’re the heir to the plantation, Varis. You shouldn’t be taking risks like this. And you know how your father is.” He set down a pauldron that he had been polishing with a scrap of cloth, and shot her a sour glance.

“I am of age now. I will not skulk here to be nannied while the hunt goes on without me. You’ve heard the news from Mournhold. That fetcher Helseth is preparing to capitulate to the Imperials. To sell our traditions away even further. I know a Hlaalu will flog anything that isn’t nailed down… But our dignity too? I did not think he would stoop so low. For all we know, this may be the last hunt permitted.” His eyes seemed to flash a deeper red momentarily, stained by anger. The Deshann Planes had been in uproar ever since rumours had filtered down from the capital of Helseth’s proposal to outlaw slavery. “I am going, and neither you, nor mother, nor father will stop me.”

She sighed and shook her head. Varis Dres had made up his mind. As obstinate and stubborn as the best of the Dunmer, he would not have his mind changed for him. “Well, no-one can say that Vadeni Dren did not try.” Knowing that he would not be further drawn on the subject, she changed topic. “Earlier on I spoke with Endul. He agreed to teach me more about conjuring fire. Look.” Varis glanced up again. Vadeni had her face screwed up in concentration. Her brow was knotted, hand extended, fingers splayed. After a moment, a haze of heat appeared, and the tiniest flickers of flame licked around the tips of her digits. Suddenly clenching her hand into a fist, the fire flared into life, enveloping the hand up to the wrist, hissing hungrily.

Varis could not help but smile in amusemant and pride. She learned quickly. He had briefly considered teaching her more himself, but that was best left to the mages and savants. All Dren warriors were naturally gifted and trained in the use of magical fire, to an extent, but he would not want to impart faulty or misleading knowledge unto his friend by accident. Vadeni was wearing a strained smile. “It doesn’t hurt at all, so long as you keep it centred. Balanced against your self. Your willpower I suppose.” She opened the fist again, turning the palm to the ceiling, and deftly shook out the magical flames. “Endul said that it gets easier as you practice. He said that if I carry on as I am, he should be able to show me how to throw it by Sun's Dawn.” Varis chuckled to himself.

“By Sun’s Dawn I don’t doubt you’ll be able to spar with Lord Vivec himself by writ of magicka.” She smiled again. “However, until then, don’t overexert yourself.” He rolled up the sleeve of his loose undershirt. “After all, how do you think I got these?” The pale blue light the lanterns cast played gently over the obvious signs of burning. A thin streak of faded yet gnarled scar tissue ran from the wrist up to the elbow. “I tried too much too soon. Don’t let the magicka outsmart you. It is a powerful tool, but a dangerous one. If you don’t respect it, it’ll bring you down. Many a mage and amateur dabbler has learnt that the hard way, myself included. Now, I’d recommend leaving Endul alone until after the hunt. I will not be impressed if we all die because he’s too tired to from teaching you to do his job.” She grinned and nodded.

“I think I can wait until you get back to learn more of the mystic arts. Probably.” Varis struggled to his feet and yawned. “You should get some sleep if you’re really intent on going… Muster your strength and everything.” He nodded grimly. “You look tired anyway. I’ll leave you in peace. If you want me, I’ll be in the Dren dormitory.” She stood, then formally inclined her head as tradition between Sub and Great House members demanded. It wasn’t really necessary due to their relationship as friends, so Varis guessed she was probably playing one of her games to see if he’d notice her subtly mocking him. He shrugged it off and watched her leave.

Cracking the joints in his fingers, he stood himself, and went to leave the hall. Deep inside the labyrinth-like building, his own personal room awaited him.

Looks promising. Haven't seen any spelling misteaks, or mabye it's because I know not how to spell them. Anywho, you're a great writer, I'd give you that. Oh, and um sorry to be an ass, but you're fanfic is great, but change the first few sentences so it svcks the reader right in. I;ve seen many great fanfics, but always see the views go up, while the comments are left at nil.

Varis' Venture v II

Varis sat bolt upright. He couldn’t clear his head… Everything seemed blurry around the edges, and it was hard to look around. It was like his head was full of water, sloshing from side to side when he turned it. The storm had abated by the sound of things. He ignored the leathery old mer that was sat opposite him on the table. It seemed perfectly natural that he be there. Completely… normal. Varis swung his legs out of the bed. It was almost like he had tunnel vision. All he could focus on was the ancient Dunmer who sat solemnly watching him from the other side of the room.

The silence stretched out for what seemed hours. Then as sudden as a pouncing nix-hound, the Dunmer spoke. “Under sun and sky I greet you, Dren Varis.” He raised his splayed hand. Slowly he folded his fingers down until only three remained. “The three will ask and you shall serve.” Varis nodded dumbly. “Heed not the word of the false prophets, and your faith shall be rewarded.” There was a low rumble in the distance.

The old mer folded his arms. “You will leave this place, and wage red war in their names. To the place where the dragons rule; three tasks they shall bequeath upon you; three tasks you shall set forth to attend on.” The distant rumbling was growing in volume and tone. Varis could feel the flagstones around the room vibrating slightly. “Know that this is the truth! Watch your way, child of Dres. The misconception and the malevolent shall dog your path.” The distant rumble erupted into a raw explosion of noise, and darkness descended as if a black cloth had been draqed over the sun.

Varis exploded from slumber to the sound of thunder breaking directly overhead. He had never heard anything so loud in his life, and cupped his ears, wincing. As the cacophony subsided, other grating noises became apparent. Shouts and screams from outside, and the repeated ringing of the heavy alarm bell. They were under attack!

“Honoured elder, we must move!” He looked around the room wildly, searching for his ancient visitor. He was alone. The room was empty. He cursed to himself, then rushed out. Running down the corridors, he saw minor house nobles running to and fro looking for family members or guards. He ran to the entrance hall, where his blood-kin and their close friend’s armour was stored. Snatching up his ornate chitin carapace, he began to buckle in on. Halfway through the process, a spear wielding guard ran through. “You, guard, halt! Tell me at once, what is happening?” The guard rapidly inclined his head in a quick salute.

“My lord Dres, we are attacked! The raiders are in the slave pens! Your father has rallied the guard, and we go to meet the invaders!” Varis spat another curse. This would be the Argonian n’wah, or abolitionist fetchers. Perhaps they were the one and same. Either way, if the clash came to the blade, it would get bloody. Varis intended to be in the thick of it, spilling the enemy’s.

“Quick then, fasten my cuirass. I shall enter the fight alongside my father!” The ancient Dunmer was well over three hundred years old and was blessed among the mer folk, in that he had fathered two children. While gifted with extreme longevity, Varis' father was beginning to show signs of frailty. It was believed that his time was soon to come. The toils of his early life had left their mark; he was most certainly no-where near as well preserved as the old queen Barenziah was. The elder child was a daughter, Daynasa, and had forfeited her inheritance in order to fulfil her following in the Tribunal Temple. She was coming on forty, leaving a large gap (by the estimation of man, not mer) between herself and Varis, who was a mere nineteen years of age.

While the guard deftly bound the braces and straps that secured the armour, Varis pulled on his gauntlets and secured one of his pauldrons. The guard finished his work and secured the other, while Varis was still fumbling with the first. “Good. Now we go to my father.”

Snatching up his spear and whip, the pair jogged out into the darkness. The rain had for the most part abated, but a howling wind had maintained its grip on the grim landscape. Salt and grit from the planes blew across the compound like daggers. Varis quickly pulled on his resin goggles, deeply regretting the fact he had forgone his helm and turban. Still, it was too late to go back for them.

“You, guard. Lead the way. Where was my father last?” The question was rendered moot as a brief sound of battle was blown across by the capricious winds. The darkness was suddenly illuminated by a savage blast of magical flame, before it was snatched away by the swirling dust storm. “Quickly, forward! Move to the pens!” Both mer sprinted towards the slave holding area, when a guard fell down in front of them from behind a wall. He had a vicious barbed dagger protruding from his arm and was swearing profusely. The Argonian who had struck him dived down to finish the job, aiming to throttle the downed Dunmer.

Varis aimed a savage kick at its head, the booted foot coming out of the clouds like an avenging meteorite. It connected with the sound of a horrific crack, rolling the reptile off the fallen guard, to lay limp on the floor. In no mood for mercy, Varis plunged his spear between its ribs, executing his fallen foe. The wounded Dres guard struggled weakly to his feet. “M-Many thanks master D-Dres.” He went to move away, then staggered and dropped to one knee.

Varis ran to his side and stooped to examine the injured mer’s wound. It was already giving out a repugnant smell, with the source seeming to be the blade itself. Poison. “Those damn filthy outlander fetchers will pay for this,” he roared. “You, help carry this man. We must reach Endul Salas before the poison reaches his heart!” He took the bloodied guard by one arm, allowing his companion to seize his other. After a few strides, he collapsed again, and fell silent. He was unconscious. Together, they dragged him towards the battle.

Perhaps there they could find a cure for the insidious venom that coursed through his veins.

This is rather good. I noticed two spelling errors in the first part;
Kajit should be Khajiit, and Halaalu should be Hlaalu.
Also, in the second part, lizard man might not be entirely appropriate.
Reptile or just Argonian might be better.

Apart from that, I didn't notice any problems.
You've used Dunmeri insults correctly as far as I can see, and the plot is interesting already.

I'm definitely looking forward to more of this.

Varis' Venture v III

The night was dry now - the rain had ceased. It was just the brute force of the gale, and the bellowing retort of the storm. There was another almighty flash of lightning as the pair struggled onwards, unconscious guard strung between them. Thunder broke, roaring overhead. Varis looked to his companion. “You, guard. What is your name?” The guard grunted as he shifted his hold on his fallen comrade, in order to make the task of moving him more comfortable.

The armoured mer flinched as a stray fireball arched overhead, before straightening again. “Tulin Dren, master Dres, humble servant of Great House Dres.” Varis nodded curtly. There were many Dren’s in Dres’ employ. The subhouse had pledged allegiance to the Dres early in the second era, and the relationship was one of the most stable of all the competing houses of Morrowind. Many of Dren's sons were household retainers and guards. Rumour had it that Dren was founded by a fallen Dres son who had disgraced himself, yet later redeemed himself through heroic acts of courage. Enough to garner respect from his fellow Dunmer and countrymen, but not for his blood to forgive him, it seemed.

“I see. Can you take this mer alone? I must meet my father.” Tulin nodded in acknowledgement, and shifted his weight again to enable him to bear the burden alone. Varis muttered his thanks, and dashed away across the courtyard, towards the exit portal of the walled enclosure. The slave pens were just outside the walls, which is where the attack must have been focused. He could also hear the howling of the hounds now, a sound that had been previously suppressed by the storm and the clamour of combat.

Varis immediately changed direction, sprinting for the Nix enclosures. Why had no-one released them? They were trained hunters, and valuable assets in a fight. As he rounded the corner to the pens, the beasts redoubled their efforts to break free, launching themselves at their gates in an attempt to batter them down. “Calm! Calm down you fetchers!” he bellowed as he fumbled with the latches and locks. One by one, the creatures were released, all pacing impatiently around Varis and getting in the way, their insectoid snouts snuffling in the dust.

The yellowy-white hue of their hides contrasted strongly with the drab markings of their northern cousins. Some said that the colour allowed them to hunt easier on the salt flats of the Planes, while others said the Anticipation Azura had changed them on a whim. Varis did not care for the reasoning. They would wait for his order and fight to the death. That was what counted here. He whistled shrilly. “Come! Come hounds! Follow your master!” To a continuing chorus of howls and guttural barks, the group dashed off; one armoured Dunmer with five Nix Hounds orbiting around him like satellites.

A moment later they were inside the slave compound – half of the cages had been smashed open. In the others, downtrodden slaves still cowered in the corners, fearful that they might be caught in the crossfire. In the large walkway between the two rows of pens, hell was unfolding. “Attack! Go Hounds, attack!” Varis roared, readying his spear and undoing the buckle on his dagger for ease of access.

Argonian warriors wearing some kind of damp looking scale armour were savagely attacking the household guards. Looking closer, he could see there were some Imperials among them too. Snarling, he closed in, watching his hounds race ahead and lay into anything that was not Dunmeri, yet living. The Argonians turned to face the new attack, one cutting a Hound down with a wickedly barbed knife. As it lodged in the beast’s flank, the reptile reverted back to its natural most comfortable state and racked its claws across the wounded hound’s face. It smashed to the bloody floor, chest heaving, whimpering. This provided an opening for a guard who had been circling behind to strike.

The dagger arced downwards, before burying itself in the insurgent’s scaly back. The wounded attacker screamed in pain, trying to turn to face its new assailent. The Dunmer was fast though, and uninjured. He jinked past the wild flails, opening another vicious wound on its belly. It was then that another of the Argonians – one of their own slaves, by the look of things – came to relieve its beleaguered emancipator. Tackling the guard, it threw him to the ground. The severely wounded warrior was determined to finish his foe before succumbing himself, and lurched forward for the kill, as the freedman held him.

Varis charged screaming, spear held like a lance. With a sickening noise, he caught the injured Argonian through the neck. The spear tip shattered in its throat, erupting through the other side in a welter of gore. The freed slave gave a terrified shriek of surprise before turning to flee. It didn’t make it out of the building, being cut down in the midst of the melee.

Varis kicked the corpse off his weapon, cursing darkly at the damage. He was left with just the shaft, the end having snapped near enough clean away. He threw the useless implement down in disgust and withdrew his dagger. Quickly searching around, he saw his father. He was fighting a giant of a man who could easily rival an Altmer for size – an Imperial wielding some sort of claymore. The human was heavily bearded, and wearing light chainmail, probably to facilitate fast movement over swamp and marsh. Probably a leader. Varis picked his way through the fight, dodging around the enmeshed combatants. A guard fell in front of him with a war axe lodged in his skull, helm cleaved open. His murderer was knelt over the corpse, trying to yank the weapon lose.

Varis pushed all his might into a downward punch, cracking the red Argonian on the back of the head. It went down on its front, stunned, then immediately tried to scramble to its feet. Varis responded by diving on it, then stabbing over and over again, into its back and skull. Dripping with his victim’s blood, he rose again, a horrible throbbing emanating from his fist. The punch was probably a bad idea, he considered in retrospect. It felt like he had dislocated a knuckle, but the gauntlet had absorbed much of the impact. He swapped his blade to his other hand to compensate. That was going to make it so much harder to fight. But the giant Imperial was right there, just ahead. The dagger was holstered.

He summoned all his strength and willpower from deep within, feeling an arcane heat spreading through his limbs. He focused and honed it, murmuring protective incantations to assist with the process. It was all about balance. But this was no time for caution. He allowed the magicka more slack to work, free reign to control, forcing more and more potency into the spell. The heat in his hands was becoming unbearable. He concentrated even more, trying to find a consensus between power and control. He could feel his skin burning, his muscles immolated. His vision blurred under the strain. He could take no more.

In a flash, he smashed his hands together, a blinding ball of conjured fire appearing there. The giant turned, eyes wide with horror as the eldrich flame was hurled at him. Just before unconsciousness took him, Varis had the satisfaction of witnessing the firestorm strike the giant in the chest, billowing over his figure, consuming his face. The acrid stench of burning flesh and hair filled the room. The last sound he heard was screaming. The sound of victory.

Varis' Venture v IV

Varis blinked once or twice. There was a horrible throbbing in his head, like someone was pounding on it with a mallet. His nose could detect the distant stench of cooked flesh. The smell was indistinct and distant, as if the source had been long removed, but the room had not been aired to exorcise its ghost. There was a flurry of rapid footfalls as someone hurried over. He was treated to the sight of Vadeni leaning over him, worry etched on her face. She shook him by the shoulders gently. “Varis? Varis, are you awake?”

He blinked again, then screwed his eyes up as a particularly nasty throb cleaved his head in half. For a moment he felt delirious, and thoughts of what it would be like to take the concerned mer maiden for a wife pin-wheeled through his dazed mind. He blinked a few times to clear his head, the moment passing quickly.

“Yes, I am. Get off,” he managed to growl after a moment. She sighed in relief. “What time is it?” He opened his eyes again. He’d been moved to his room and had been laid on his bed.

“4am. Magnus will be rising soon. You’ve been unconscious ever since you were brought in.” She chewed a nail nervously. “Why did you push the spell so far? You were lecturing me about that earlier! Why were you so… so… stupid!” He struggled out of the sheets with a wan smile and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Oh no you don’t, Varis Dres!” She had the commanding tone of a matriarch now. “Endul said you were not to leave your bed until he could come back to check on you!”

“Oblivion take Endul,” Varis retorted lightly. “I feel fine.” He went to push off the side of the bed, then stopped abruptly, staring at his hands. They were both swaddled in thick yellow parchment-like bandages. The material was greasy with salves and ointments. He couldn’t feel his hands. He held one of his mummified palms under his nose and sniffed. He was greeted by the repugnant stench of alchemical medicine.

Vadeni sat down next to him, and tried to place a hand carefully on his shoulder. He shook her off briskly, still shocked. “Varis, you’re wounded. That’s why you have to stay here. Your father has already sent a summons to Tear to dispatch a Telvanni savant healer. The best Dres can buy. You’ll be better soon.”

“Why can’t I feel my hands?” he murmured. He turned them over again, looking at both sides of the bandage.

“Endul healed all of the burning he could, then numbed them. Your father didn’t want you bothered by pain while you recovered.” Varis sat mutely for a second, Vadeni perched awkwardly next to him. He shook his head slowly for a moment.

“How is my father?”

“Fine. He told me what you did, you know. You probably saved his life – he’s not so young these days. They checked the human’s body afterwards too, but couldn’t salvage anything much. The heat actually melted his armour and fused it onto the corpse. Everything else save his weapon was pretty much wrecked, and even that’s been heat-warped to uselessness.” Despite the admonishing tone, there was a glimmer in her eye that told him she was silently impressed. If she was surprised he’d managed it, she wasn’t alone. It felt like the effort had nearly killed him.

“What of the battle?” There was an edge to his voice now. Already his heart ached with the stain of dishonour. He had abandoned an injured companion in favour of personal glory in battle. Atonement would have to be made, lest he shame himself further.

She simply sighed. “Two guards dead, three injured. One of them was poisoned and Endul isn’t sure if he is going to make it.” A chill crept down Varis’ spine. “Unfortunately, those barbarians also let loose twenty-three slaves. Your father said we got some of them back, but many fled and others got cut to bits during the fight. We’ve got the remaining Hounds out searching for the escapees.” Varis wasn’t listening though. Hastily, he began to struggle to his feet. “Varis! What in the name of the Tribune are you doing?”

“I’ve got to see that guard. The one who was poisoned. I have to.” He clambered to his feet, teetered for a moment, then rocked forward unsteadily. Vadeni leapt up to support him, sliding under his arm and wrapping hers around his back simply to stop him cascading into the opposite wall. He nodded his thanks. “I have to go. And don’t you dare tell me to get back in the bed. I’ll still go, and I’ll break my leg in a fall if I must.”

She shook her head in despair. “Varis, you stubborn fetcher…” He simply glared until she caved in. “Fine. I’ll help you, despite your head being full of Guar dung. But don’t come crying to me when you get tired. You rest afterwards. Non-negotiable.” He acquiesced to that much, and the pair slowly hobbled out.

I enjoyed reading this

Sorry for my lack of constructive criticism, but I thought it was very good already. I'm looking forward to more of this :biggrin:

Varis' Venture v V

The plantation buildings formed the spitting image of a letter ‘V’ in composition – the Manor itself formed one arm, with luxuriant rooms forming entire villas for noble families and influential adoptees. The accommodation of Varis’ father - the manor lord - could be found in the tower that rose from the centre of the building, physically placing him above his subordinates. The second arm, which was at a ninety-degree angle to the first, consisted of meagre housing and facilities for the guards, servants, junior House members and savants.

The courtyard created a diamond, as an opposite ‘V’ consisting of a tall perimeter wall met the buildings. This created a secluded, private and safe area where commodities could be stored or residents could stroll. In the apex of the walls, a gate broad enough to admit a Guar-wagon stood strong. The slave pens were located on the outside of the walls, bordering the guard quarters. There was a double guard in there now. It was the guard building that Varis and Vadeni had struggled across to because it housed the infirmary; their progress had been relatively unhindered, due to the fact the gate had been drawn and barred, blocking the majority of the winds.

Inside the building it was painfully obvious where the infirmary was located. The moans and whimpers of the wounded could be heard distinctly. They seemed to ring particularly – almost unreasonably – loud, simply because the rest of the building was cloaked in a subdued and apprehensive silence. A guard scurried out a side door in front of them, carrying a large redware bowl that was full of water. Varis called out after him before he escaped around another corner. “You, guard! I require your assistance!” The Dunmer who was still wearing all his mud-flecked Chitin armour (sans the helm) turned and trotted back obediently, giving an arch bow when noticed who had called him.

“May the Tribunal smile upon you Master Dres. How may I assist you?” He spoke smoothly, but Varis could tell he was not a local mer. He had the accent of a northerner, probably from the Redoran lands that bordered Cyrodil. A junior adoptee, no doubt.

“Where are the wounded housed? There is one I wish to visit – he was poisoned.” The guard dipped his head again, thinking.

“Ah, yes. If you would follow me, Master Dres, I will guide you swiftly to your destination. Do you require any more assistance with your gait?” Varis narrowed his eyes, wary that the hireling’s tone could very well be betraying an insubordinate attitude. Vadeni caught wind of his train of thought with a single glance and headed him off.

“No, we are fine. You may proceed.” With that he turned on his heel and purposefully strode towards the end of the corridor, just slow enough to allow the couple to keep pace. After a few short moments, they arrived at an open door, inside which two mer were laid groaning on trestle tables. They had been stripped of their armour and tended to with thick bandages. They were already stained with seeping blood. A curtain was drawn across the end of the room.

“He is there, master Dres,” the soldier intoned, pointing at the curtain. With that he moved to the wounded, offering each any water he could take. Varis and Vadeni picked their way falteringly across the room, stepping around hurriedly abandoned sections of armour. One of the Dunmer guards had a horrible wound in his back, from the look of the bandages. The cuirass on the floor next to him bore testament to this conclusion, with a terrible gash having opened the rear-plate like a ruptured kwama egg. They drew the curtain aside, the stench of sickness and sweat hitting them like a physical barrier. Endul Salas was stood with his back to them, turning as he heard the noise.

“Master Varis? What are you doing here?” He turned a scolding look to Vadeni. “Didn’t I tell you to keep him in his room?”

“I thank you for your concern Endul, but I believe I can best judge my own condition,” Varis interjected. Endul merely sighed and ran a hand through his silvery hair. It left a streak of grime, those same hands having only shortly prior been turned to treating the injured.

“You would be surprised how many have been deceived by their own bodies, Varis.” He sighed. “But where are my manners? How may I help you?” Varis stumbled out of Vadeni’s arms and sat down heavily on a nearby chair.

“That guard,” he said nodding towards the unconscious figure in front of him. “How is he?” He’d been stripped to the waist, bandages swaddling his right arm. His entire body was slick with a sheen of sweat, and a fever clearly coloured his face. His chest palpitated as his heart raced and strained lungs svcked in air.

Endul just sighed. “Not good, I’m afraid. The poison already had him in its thrall by the time I got to him. If I’d found him sooner, his prospects may have been better.” Varis grimaced. “However, if you can stand, I could use both of your help.”

Vadeni looked around. “How?”

Endul took her by the shoulder and positioned her on the trestle’s left. “Both of you hold an arm down. I’m going to try and extract the poison. When I start, he’s going to go into convulsions, and if he misdirects the magicka due to that, it could kill him. Either way, if we don’t try this, he’ll die.” Vadeni gingerly grasped his left bicep. Endul tutted and pressed her hands down much harder. “You can’t let him move, understand?” Varis had already hobbled over to the other side and pinned the right arm as hard as his swaddled hands would allow, careful not to touch the bandages. “By the mercy of Amalexia, the mystery of Sil and the mastery of Vivec, grant us success,” Endul murmured to himself. He leaned forward, ready to begin.

great stuff man! keep it coming

It pleases me to see another update on this.
Excellent stuff, though in the first paragraph, did you mean "spitting image" rather than "splitting image"?

Still as good as ever, I see! Sorry for lack of criticism this frightning day, but I will see what I can do tomorrow. Keep em' comming, old boy, keep 'em coming.

Thank you for the comments Gortock, Pete and Schmuty. I aim to please. I'll try to keep new posts regular and of a consistent length. Oh, and don't worry. Varis will be moving on from this little story-arc soon, and will be assisting his father in 'questioning' some prisoners from the attack. Stay tuned.

Varis' Venture v VI

Endul closed his eyes and laid his hands on the guards chest. A glow seemed to build in the mage's wrists, before feeding down into his patient's pallid grey skin. Immediately he bucked as if struck by lightning. His eyelids popped open, his eyes rolled unseeing up to their pinks. Varis and Vadeni hung on grimly, both pressing down as hard as they dared. Endul himself was still channelling as much magicka as he could, having now moved his hands from the guard’s chest to his injured arm. Tracing a power laden finger around the wound, there seemed to be a perceptible change.

The flesh around the bandages darkened, as if some corrupting essence was passing under it. The black shadow moved up and over his shoulder, across to his torso, then down to his neck. “Hold him still!” Endul bellowed. The guard was still violently twitching as the venom was directed through him. “If he displaces the poison now, it’ll be released into his throat! Hold him!” It now looked as if Endul was trying to throttle the injured mer, with both hands clasped around his neck. The corruption crept onwards, into his cheeks and chin. Then black bile exploded from his nose, ears and mouth.

Varis flinched and Vadeni gagged slightly. The guard was still. Endul took off his hands, instead diving for a cloth, mopping furiously at the venom. Already there was an acrid stench underlying the reek of corruption. “You two, get a rag, or some water – this venom will burn him if we don’t stop it!” Vadeni immediately hurried back through the curtain, before snatching up the bowl of water their guide had brought in. Varis fumbled with a scrap of material, awkwardly clasping it between his mitten-like hands. After sluicing the mer with cold water and scrubbing the remaining bile away, they stopped to take stock of the situation. Varis broke the silence first.

“Endul, what in the name of Oblivion was that?” Endul merely wiped off his hands on his robe, hawking a globule of phlegm into the now empty bowl as he did so.

“When a body is attacked by venom, it unbalances the body’s natural humours. Such a vicious toxin destroys or negates the body’s positive, spiritual energies which regulate the mundane organs. This leads to the spontaneous generation of black bile. That is what is dangerous, and that is what we expelled.” Varis didn’t look impressed.

“Save me your technical healer nonsense. Is he safe?” Endul shrugged.

“It is hard to tell. I think we’ve removed the root of the problem. We’ll have to wait and see.” Vadeni patted Varis on the shoulder.

“Well, we’ve done all we can Varis. Time for you to hold up your end of the bargain and get back to your quarters, yes?” Varis simply grimaced.

“I didn’t say where I’d rest. There’s a chair in the corner I can sit in. I’ll stay here and watch over him. Endul, you may retire to rest.” Vadeni was shaking her head, exasperated.

“I’m never making a deal with you again, you know.” Varis simply shot her another wan smile.

Endul simply politely coughed. “Well, young Dunmer will do as young Dunmer please, lady Vadeni. Especially when said young Dunmer has noble blood and feels he can get away with it. I’ll be heading off. It has been a… very long night, shall we say?” He nodded to Vadeni, and bowed curtly to Varis before pushing past the curtain and disappearing from sight.

Vadeni stayed with him for almost an hour, chatting about nothing in particular in order to pass the time. With a yawn, she decided she would depart to bed, but promised that she would dispatch a slave to bring refreshments. A while after that, the moans of the soldiers quietened, as each fell into a fitful slumber. After she left, the night seemed to draw out into infinity. Varis dared not sleep, lest he shame himself further by allowing his ward to die during his vigil, but he allowed his mind to wander, thinking alternately of the Almsivi, the coming raid on Black Marsh and the attack on the plantation itself.

It was a long time before Magnus’ first rays broke through the high resin window. The light invigorated Varis, shaking him from the claws of fatigue, at least temporarily. It was then that the guard’s lids flickered. Slowly he opened his eyes. Varis stood, working the cramp out of his legs in the process. The long hours sitting had allowed him to recuperate from his own overexertion. “Can you hear me?”

The guard blinked a few times, before looking around vaguely to see who had called to him. “Don’t want to go to Tear, father. Don’t send me to the Pens.” He coughed abruptly, a short splatter of black bile seeping from his lips. “Be good. Won't take no more kwa…” he rattled off into silence, before slipping back to sleep. He wasn't lucid. Varis noted with satisfaction that this was not the forced comatose of the injured, but the restful slumber of the exhausted. He clutched the old cloth again, and wiped away the latest expulsion.

He would heal.

Will we be seeing any more of Varis soon?
I've thought up a little mod concept which I'll pm to you in a bit.

Also, in the last paragraph, "Wont" should be "Won't".

Varis' Venture v VII

The bandages came off for the first time later that morning. Varis looked on with an almost clinical interest as Endul cast another charm of numbing over the scorched, blistered skin and suppurating sores. After the slave Vadeni had arranged to arrive at dawn had arrived to continue the vigil, he had departed to briefly rest. He had been awakened several hours later by Endul who had declared that his father wished to see him once he had been tended to.

“Endul, do you know when the healer from Tear will be arriving?” The mage finished rubbing fresh ointment into the wounds before looking up.

“The savant will be travelling to Silnim Dale via a Telvanni Guide, master Varis. From there it will be an additional day’s travel. You’ll have to take it easy until then.” Varis rolled his eyes and looked away. “I mean it. If you disrupt the healing process they’ll never fully recover.” He drew out a swath of bandages from his satchel. They were thick and yellow, looking like they had been woven from some fibrous plant.

“Why can’t you do it then? You could heal my hands, yes?”

“I probably could, but you would not wish it so, trust me. They’d be healed scarred and gnarled. The mage from Tear is an expert. You would never know they had been injured in the first place, once he’s finished.” Varis left it at that. There would be no gain from further questioning or argument. When Endul was done, Varis rose, then departed with a stiff nod.

He had been told to proceed to the wet-room. This was a chamber appended on the side of the slave pens, the fact it was built on a slope placing it slightly lower and just below the water-mark. It was from thus it derived its name, among other reasons. Varis had an inkling of what might be happening there. A guard joined him in escort as he left the manor and crossed the courtyard. Moving into the slave building, he could see where fresh sawdust and mud had been raked in to cover the blood stains. There were an inexcusable number of empty pens now.

He paced slowly along the aisle, inspecting each of the captive workers in turn. Half of the usually occupied cells were empty due to shift workers already being out sifting through the fields. In an hour, the others would be gone too. They had been arranged in order of loyalty. Nearest the door were the household servants, with more spacious cells and more comfortable conditions. The bulk of the cells contained labourers for the plantation: those who were deemed too unpredictable or hideous to bath the feet or serve the food of the noble classes. At the end of the room, near the door to the wet-room, were the pens of those who still required breaking. Bending to the will of a superior being. There were prisoners from the raid there now.

As he passed, an Argonian looked up at him and accidentally caught his eye. He sneered, and the guard leapt forward, striking the reptile with the blunt end of his spear. It squealed and scurried to the back of the cell; as far back as it could go. “Let that be a warning to you!” The guard bellowed in reply. “You are not worthy of looking upon your masters. Your eyes remain averted!” Ignoring the spectacle, Varis continued to the wet-room door and went inside, leaving the guard posted at the door.

His father was inside and looked up as he entered. Varis bowed to him. “May the Almsivi bless you. You wished my presence, father?”

He nodded curtly. “Those beasts that raided last night require dealing with. This one, in particular.” He gestured to a male Argonian that had been manacled to a chair in the corner and gagged. A guard - this one donning the sinister black garb of a jailor instead of the chitin plates of the warrior – materialised from the gloomy room’s shadows and cut the gag loose. There was an immediate explosion of expletives and curses, all in the seemingly flat and emotionless drawl of the Argonians. His bared teeth and flashing eyes betrayed the depth of its rage. “I would suggest you cease to employ that tongue, beast, before I have it cut loose.”

The former warrior subsided into a sullen glare. “Much better. Now, what were you and your kin doing so far into the Deshaan Planes?” Varis fancied he recognised it from the night before, but to be frank, they all looked the same to him.

“I’ll never tell you, dirt-elf,” the captive spat. There was the barely perceptible whisper of a well oiled blade being drawn. It would have made the reptile’s hair stand on end, had it possessed any capable of rising. The dark jailor was evidently more than a mere overseer of slaves. The blade was traced down the side of the reptile’s face as a warning – it bounced from scale to scale with almost painfully precise deliberation. The jailor lent in close and whispered into its ear.

“I survived twenty years in the Morag Tong. I excelled in delivering Mephala’s blessings. Lord Dres is both my master and my shelter. Slander him once more, and I will focus the entirety of my mortal capacity on removing each and every one of your scales while you still yet live. Do I make myself clear?” The wicked blade hooked itself under a scale and raised it to an uncomfortable position as a cautionary warning. The Argonian grunted in submission.

“I am glad you have succumbed to wisdom, however hard that may be for you and your… kind.” Varis’ father paced in front of the captive for a moment. “Now, my son and I require information. Should you withhold it from us, we will exact retribution. But you will give us that information.

"Pain is a wonderful motivator.”

Varis' Venture v VIII

It was a long time before the Argonian warrior succumbed. The Dres plantation had known much suffering over the years and the Dunmer taskmasters, slavers and interrogators had long since taken advantage of the fact to learn the weaknesses of the beast races. The final straw that had eventually broken the hardy raider was a bowl of water. The solution had been brought in from the saltrice paddies, then had yet more salt dissolved into it until the water was saturated and a white scum floated on top. The mixture was then rubbed into the still-bleeding wounds, greatly exacerbating the reptile’s already miserable and pained condition.

Varis squatted down in front of it to look it in one of its unfocused eyes. The torturer slapped it to get its attention. “Argonian, are you going to answer our questions, or will you punish yourself further?”

He shook his head fervently. “No… No! We answer! Just ask, ask, please! No more!” Varis smiled sardonically and lashed out at the Argonian’s face. He stopped inches away from contact. It whimpered quietly, much to his satisfaction.

“I’m glad you saw reason.” He bowed slightly to his father. “I believe you wanted some answers, my lord?”

“Indeed.” He walked around from the warrior's side and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Now, I asked you what you were doing so far away from your mud huts and ‘women’. Don’t you think I deserve an answer?” The torturer was still stood behind his charge, and placed a firm hand on either shoulder. It flinched, then answered.

“Yes, yes. I t-tell you. Me and brood b-brothers from Stormhold. Go north to border to free our kin. We meet holders of the Twin Lamps there by accident, near the border.” It was there he lapsed into silence, perhaps fearing he’d let too much go already.

“I shouldn’t have been surprised. What do you know of the Twin Lamps?” The Argonian remained mute for a moment, so the guard pressed down on one of the many pressure points around the neck. It squirmed for a moment, then answered.

“Nothing, nothing! All I know is he joined us there, then directed us north. He said your guards would be gone, that he knew they had left for a hunt!” Lord Dres froze, narrowing his eyes. The guard rose a gloved fist to strike the prisoner, but the Lord held up a restraining hand to stop him.

“How did this Imperial fetcher think he knew this?” He was now quiet and intense, deadly serious. “Attempt guile or treachery now, and I will have you strung up and hung where the others can see you as an example. Understand?” It nodded vigorously.

“He did not say much. J-Just that he had a contact who h-had intimate knowledge of the area. Please! That is all I know.” Varis snorted.

“I say we pump him for all the information we can get, father.”

The elderly mer shook his head. “We’ll get no more from him now.” The Argonian seemed to sag with relief. “Guard, put it back in the cells. I’ll decide what do about it later.” With that he took Varis by the shoulder and marched from the room. The slave pens were now emptied save for the dissidents near the wet-room door. They were content to ignore them save for one or two half-hearted hisses – they were too busy planning an escape or internally making peace with themselves.

“Varis, it need not be said how important it is we find this traitor.” He nodded dutifully. “It cannot be one of the slaves – we have too tight a control over them. It must be one of the staff. I want you to watch them as well as you can. I will also delay the hunt until this can be dealt with.” Varis grinned at the thought of the hunt being delayed until he had healed. His father frowned at the sight. “Do you find this situation amusing, child? I assure you, the severity of the case is most assured.” Varis backpedalled quickly.

“No father, I was just envisioning the moment when I bring the s’wit to justice. It will be glorious.” His father’s grimly set mouth lost some of its edge.

“Fine. You may take charge of the investigation then. No son of mine will fail.” The implied consequences were all but too obvious to his ears.

Dun stop posting man! Haven't read for quite a while, but I am still here !

Oh, I forgot all about this!
Consistently excellent, and I didn't notice any errors with episode 7 or 8.

If you still fancy doing stuff for TR, you should definitely give your thread a bump.

Did you stop? Or are you still in the process of writing a new chapter?