Part I of VII

Kviru felt the warmth of her body press against his back as her hand slid over his side. “How did a healer ever get so muscular?” she whispered in his ear.

He smiled but did not open his eyes. “By growing up on a farm and chopping firewood eight hours a day for twenty years.” He laced his fingers through hers. “My mother may have been in the Guild, but my father was a farmer before he was even born.”

“I’m not complaining,” Neyarie said, her lips brushing against his back. “You look quite impressive in your robes.”

“Not out of them?”

“Well,” she said coyly. “Maybe a little.” She squeezed against him. “We have to get up you know. We’ll be late for Lisiir’s speech. He’s going to need our support.”

“He doesn’t need our support; he’s been practicing that speech all week. Besides, I think it might be nicer to stay here.” He released her hand and reached behind him.

She pushed his hand away. “Now, husband,” she chided. Her hands shoved against his back, jostling him ever so slightly. “We need to get going; all the Wise will be there. Gods, it’s like trying to move a mountain.”

Kviru smiled as she rocked him back and forth…


…he nearly fell as the cart rocked him back and forth. Kviru opened his eyes as he tried to steady himself.

“It’s about time you woke up, High Elf,” said Ralaf. “You wouldn’t want to miss all the fun.”

Kviru glanced around at the Nords in the cart, only barely seeing the breath-taking mountains around them. His wrists hurt from the coarse rope binding them.

“You picked a bad time to cross the border,” Ralaf told him.

Kviru said nothing as the gates of Helgen opened.

***

Edit: formatting changes

Part II of VII

“Who among us has not felt the echo of that devil Lorkhan reverberating within us, distorting the very fabric of our Aurbic genesis? His lies corrupted the perfection of Anu and the poeimic infinitude of Auriel, rendering his impermanence an in-fortitude. His sons and daughters are the progenitors of spirit-bane: the mothers and fathers of horror-that-is-mortality. Are we to endure the terror of Lorkhan’s mythopoeia? Shall we sacrifice our souls for mud and disease? We were the spirits of Anuic contemplation. Why endure these lesser spirits, these whispers of the Deceiver? Let Talos burn in the fires of his own limitations. Let the Imperial pretender bow to the gods who make him in Merethic inspiration. Cut down the Void-abortions whose perceptions do the same to us. The voice speaks out but the echo returns – so we shall be again. Embrace your destiny; embrace your birth! We are et’Ada! We are the light of Magnus, the very soul of Aetherius!”

Lisiir’s voice rose to a fever pitch as the surrounding Altmer roared in assent. Near the back of the crowd Neyarie leaned cautiously over to her husband. “Is this the speech he had been practicing?”

Kviru stared across the raging crowd at his oldest friend.

“No.”


“No!” a woman screamed to his side.

“You Imperial bastards!”

“Justice!”

Kviru watched the Imperial Captain shove the headless body off the block. “The High Elf next,” she shouted.

A voice as ancient as Time echoed across the valley as Kviru stepped forward.

***

Edit: formatting changes

I eagerly watch this for the next parts.

Yaknow, it makes me wonder...

Did Dagon's daedric invaders collapse Crystal-Like-Law... or did the Thalmor do it and blame it on the daedra?

I like it, waiting for more.

Part III of VII

“By the Eight,” Kviru said wearily as he opened the door. “If I had a septim for every adventurer with Ataxia, I could…”

“…buy a house worthy of your wife?”

Kviru stopped in his tracks at the threshold of his home. “Lisiir,” he could not stop the surprise bleeding into his voice. “I did not expect to see you today. Come here old friend, it’s been far too long.”

Lisiir stood, smoothing his Thalmor robes before embracing the healer. “I saw you at my speech the other day. I appreciate your support.”

Over his friend’s shoulder Kviru noticed Neyarie staring blankly into the fire. “I have to say the whole thing was quite well done. But I feel you deceived me; I thought it was a speech on the School of Illusion, not theology.”

Lisiir threw his head back in laughter and there was something dark in his eyes that made Kviru nervous. “Old, old Kviru, you are such an absolutist. Of course it was a speech on Illusion – the illusion of mortal mythopoeia. We exist under the mistaken vision of impermanence and frailty when we are the very issue of the gods. Our belief determines reality,” he tapped his friend on the shoulder. “We become what we believe we are.”

“Of course,” Kviru said. “Neyarie, I’m sure Lisiir is thirsty…” His wife had not moved at all.

“No, no I must get going. I fear there are duties at the embassy.”

“I’m sorry I saw you so little on your visit. Had I known…”

“Have no fear. I had a lovely conversation with your wife. Perhaps the two of you will join me for dinner at the embassy, say next week?”

“We would be happy to.”

“It’s good seeing you, old man. You’re still fit as ever.”

Kviru grinned. “And you are charming as ever.”

Lisiir’s devilish smile would have melted an Elf-maid’s heart. “Charm or Illusion? I’ll see you next week.”

Kviru was troubled as he watched him go. Closing the door he turned to see his wife was still staring into the fire, and the black smoke pouring from their dinner. He rushed to take it off the spit.

“Neyarie? The roast was burning; are you…?”

He saw only the flames reflecting in her eyes.


…the door closed on the buildings burning outside.

“By Ysmir,” Ralaf said. “I think we’re the only ones who made it. Could that really have been a dragon, like in the children’s tales, the harbinger of the end times?”

Kviru considered the Nord’s haunted eyes. A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered the dragon gazing down on him from the tower...as if it was smiling.

***

Edit: formatting changes

Ok, this is good. Which feels odd to say. But it is. Maybe I'm just a svcker for this kind of story. It needs to be longer, and more developed, though. I'd like to see more concrete, gritty details; what did it feel like? What did it taste like? I'll break it down more step by step if you're really looking for critique. And it will look better if you put a return after each line.

Also: Your. Avatar. God yes.

Moar!

Thank you for your kind words. Yes it is a bit Spartan and that's by design. I'm purposely making this very short and (hopefully) very intense. I could write something much more detailed (and longer) but I'm challenging myself to communicate the story in a very brief manner. I know this may grate a bit, but its a challenge for me; and I love challenges.

And the avatar? "Death is the road to awe..."

Ok, as long as you're doing it purposefully. It's definitely intense.
Looks much more professional now; the lack of an indent in these forums is truly annoying.
'his wife had not moved at all.' Should be capitalized.
'...him from the tower. As if it was smiling.' This might be more effective if it was '... as if it was smiling.' Just a little bit choppy the way it stands.
But yeah, if the brevity is exactly what you were going for then I don't have anything else to note. Keep it up. I might have to look at your other thing, now.


Did you catch the reference in Skyrim?

I'm liking this. Look forward to more.

I saw what could have been a couple of them. Which one were you thinking of?

And thanks for the suggestions. Yes, the lack of indent is maddening!

Part IV of VII

“Gods, no.”

Raising the cowl of his robes Kviru ran from the Temple and raced for his home on the outskirts of Alinor. Already there were youth flocking to the embassy, their eyes filled with a light he knew was hate; Lisiir would have called it patriotism.

The cottage came into view and Kviru noted that Neyarie was not working in the garden as she usually did in the afternoon. She had not been herself for some weeks. There were many times she stared into space while he spoke with her and he was never sure if she was listening or lost in her own thoughts. The only time she had come to life was when they dined with Lisiir at the embassy nearly a month ago. Kviru shook his head as he opened the kitchen door; Lisiir - how could his friend be involved with all this? Yes, he had been the brash adventurer in youth, but he was never given to, to…this. “Neyarie?” he called into the house.

“I’m in the living room.”

Kviru lowered his hood and walked swiftly in. “I just heard while I was at the Temple. I can scarcely believe…”

His wife was standing at the window dressed in Thalmor robes. She turned to face him. “The Cyrodiil have rejected our peace accord,” she said. Her voice was hollow, like she was saying a remembered speech. “We are at war. Here,” she presented him with a folded robe like her own. “Many Altmer will be hurt in the conflict. We will need all the healers of Alinor.”

Kviru could barely understand what he was seeing. “’We’? What…Neyarie, why are you dressed like that?”

She smiled but there was no light in her eyes. “The time has come, my husband, for the liberation of the Aldmer. Here, take your robes.”

“Liberation? From what? I’m no Thalmor, I’m a healer for the gods sake!”

“Liberation from the false image of lesser races imposed upon their betters. Take the robe, husband; to be Altmer is to be Thalmor.”

It was only then that Kviru noticed the mace at her side. Her eyes followed his.

“Yes,” she said. “The time has come for us all to throw off our chains. By force, if we must.”

Kviru looked at his wife and saw the darkness of Lisiir’s eyes. “No,” he said forcefully. “No. I don’t know what has happened to you but the woman I married would have nothing to do with these Thalmor racists. I will have no part in this madness, and neither will you. Pack your things; the Thalmor are going to destroy everything that was beautiful about the Isle and we are not going to help them.” He turned towards the bedroom. “We have to make our way south and get my father; if we’re lucky we can find a ship before…”

He never felt the blow; only that he was falling into darkness.


He opened his eyes to the gray stone of the floor.

“You,” Ralaf said above him. “Are a terrible fighter.”

Slowly, Kviru stood up to find the Imperial that had been attacking him was now lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood. “I’m not a fighter,” Kviru replied, staring into the dead man’s eyes. “I’m a healer.”

Ralaf grunted. "Well, you better learn to fight - and fast."

Kviru watched him move into the hallway. Glancing one last time at the Imperial he quickly followed.

I only caught one; the sky of Sovngarde. It was really pretty blatant.

The latest bit is not as intense as the others, when it should be more. You definitely should have played up the dinner at the embassy, for the emotional tug. The first real paragraph (that has mention of the embassy) is just kind of sloshing around; I suggest shorter sentences. Ex.:
'The cottage came into view and Kviru noted that Neyarie was not working in the garden as she usually did in the afternoon.'
goes to:
'The cottage came into view. Neyarie was nowhere to be seen; her garden was empty, save for the whispers of a slow wind.' Or something.
I think you've dropped off on your visual power, too. Ex.:
'His wife was standing at the window dressed in Thalmor robes.' - > 'His wife was standing at the window, draqed in Thalmor black and gold.'
Also here, 'Her voice was hollow, like she was saying a remembered speech.' This isn't touching enough. Remembered speech? If I've got this right, you're trying to convey that the illusion guy ate her brain, so choose something more chilling than 'like she was saying a remembered speech.' I recommend references to ventriloquism, or marionettes, or maybe even echoes in a well.

There are some other things, but I don't want to make this too long. Just read it through again and I think you'll find a lot of things you aren't satisfied with. You had me almost twisting in my seat with the shortest sentences when he caught the Lisiir guy at his house, but this one barely did anything for me.

Also, you've mispelled Ralof.

I'm really liking the story; keep up the good work and can not wait for more.

Part V of VII

There was a searing pain in his back as the torchlight illumined the darkness.

“Come now, old friend,” Lisiir’s voice dripped venom. “You’re a terrible host, even now.”

Kviru opened his eyes. His friend’s face swam in a blurry haze before him. “What have you done?” he managed.

“What have I done?” Lisiir asked, defensively. “No, what have you done? You traitorous, filthy mongrel; refusing the call of your people, the love of your wife, the joy of your oldest friend…Poor Kviru, you have become quite the disappointment.”

Lisiir’s face coalesced into a single image. “You…did something to her. Magic…”

The image smiled that devil’s smile. “Let me tell you a secret, old fool. About Illusion. Only children play at lying; lies are fabrications that merely assert false visions against accepted realities. They are easily dismissed. But Illusion – that is the subtle transmogrification, the lightest touch that distorts, changes all. The master illusionist alters everything with a single word; even as we will transform the fabric of reality with a single war.”

In the poor light of the torch Kviru saw he had been strapped to a torture rack. “How could you, Lisiir? We’ve been friends our whole life.”

“We were never friends, fool. Haven’t you been listening?” Lisiir leaned close and violently grabbed Kviru’s face, forcing him to look him in the eye. “You and your faith, and your great love. You could never see that both are lies; inventions to sooth your conscience as you took everything you wanted. Justifications for your lust and your wealth.” Lisiir's hand struck out, a visciou back-hand that snapped Kviru’s head to the side. Stars swarmed before his eyes as blood seeped from his split lip.

“There is no denying your taste, though. I can see why you wanted her. She is quite…vigorous, in her affections.”

Something exploded inside of Kviru and he lurched forward in his bindings. “I’ll kill you!” he screamed, his voice breaking in rage. “Do you hear me? I’ll kill you!”

Lisiir considered him dispassionately before looking at the torch on the wall. “Yes, old friend. I hear you." He took the torch from its sconce. “I live to hear more.”


Kviru put on the dead mage’s robe as Ralof looked appreciatively at the torturer’s burnt corpse. “For a healer you know a pretty handy fire spell.”

The smell was acrid in his nose as Kviru raised his cowl. His eyes noted the blood covering the torture rack. “You can learn a great deal in prison,” he admitted.

::bump::

...and more coming soon...

Ooooooo... messin' with a man's woman. A shame we couldn't actually read Lisiir's scrawny ass getting burned.

Got a game screenie of what your character looks like?

Part VI of VII

Time bled into time. There were not days, only cycles of darkness and torchlight. Hunger and moldy bread and biting rats. His hair grew long, his beard became matted. His eyes strained to see in the impenetrable gloom. Time; and only time.

In the early days Lisiir would come with his tools; embalming hooks held in the fire, nightshade poisons, scraps of cloth that smelled like Neyarie. The intervals grew longer; he counted the feedings between visits. Eventually the visits ceased and there was only darkness, hunger, the rats, and time. His mind swam in the darkness and silence, echoing the voices of his wife, his friends, the life he no longer lived.

His strength began to fade, his arms thinning to bone; he hung limp in the torturer’s grip. They cut him down and threw him into a cell. At least, he thought, he was no longer suspended like the halves of Lorkhan in the sky. Maybe Lisiir would come and take his heart, and that would be the end. But no, his heart was already gone; buried in the burning mountain of Lisiir’s hatred; Lisiir, a devil reigning in fire.

Time and only time.

The door to his cell creaked open and a deep shadow fell from the figure illumined from behind, like Magnus eclipsed by Masser. “I thought you should know,” Lisiir’s voice fell like thunder on Red Mountain. “We’ve had our second child. We named him Anan after a poor farmer butchered by adventurers. Don’t worry,” Lisiir bent low, almost choking at the reek. “Your father suffered horribly, before the end.”

“Guard,” Lisiir called as he stood, smoothing his robes. “Give him some food and a mug of that bile we took from the Nords; I want him able to walk to his execution in the morning.”

He looked back on Kviru as he left the cell. “Goodbye, old friend. Know that your wife has forgotten you utterly. After ten years, she remembers only me.”

As Lisiir walked down the hall, the guard entered with a plate of rotten meat…


…a reek of rotten meat throughout the spider’s lair. Kviru stood over the corpses with flames tickling his hands.

“You’re just full of surprises,” Ralof said looking at the charred arachnids.

“The best surprises,” Kviru said. “Are kept inside, where they can’t be seen.”

Yeah, Lisiir is a nasty piece of work.

Alas I'm on 360 so no picture. Basically he looks like Viarmo from the Bard's College but with a ponytail - the one without the bottom-shave. At the moment he mostly wears Apprentice Robes and Hood, and gloves. He carries a sword but mostly fights with magic.

There's also the Kynareth temple quest. The sacred dagger being used to get tree sap? Love it!

Work. Needs sharper, harsher images, and revised punctuation. The second sentence should be connected to the third by semicolon; the last sentence should be ... instead of semicolon. Just for better effect.

Also, I have to wonder why you use Red Mountain comparisons. He's from bloody Summersett, right? You trying to hint at past travels there, or something?

It's still heart-wrenching, this latest bit, but it could be much more so. I recommend revisions. Try to get a more concrete image of the settings and emotions in your mind.



Yeah, I didn't think that was explicit enough to be a real reference. If they'd had a guardian with a blade of fire, or had placed the tree at the top of a ruin... but as it was, I'm thinking it was more an archetypal resemblance than actual reference. That was a cool quest, though.

LISIIR. MUST. DIE. Horribly.

Part VII of VII

Caveat: This post includes scenes of graphic violence.

The manor was quiet. Neyarie had gone into the city to buy clothing for the children and Lisiir was left to his study. It was opulent by any standards; suits of moonstone armor decorated the walls, priceless tomes filled each book shelf. The mantle above the fireplace was lined with Akaviri helmets. Lisiir considered them briefly, remembering the pogrom before the war. Heady days; and the rise of a new theology that even now was reshaping the world; and he had had a role to play in it. A thin smile creased his lips as he turned to consider the latest communiqué from Cyrodiil.

“You always loved your trophies,” a familiar voice said from behind.

Lisiir turned as the fist struck him square in the jaw, sending him to the floor. He rolled away from the desk, brandishing his Elven dagger and preparing a Paralysis spell that would end everything before it began. His eyes barely registered Kviru dressed as one of his guards and the blood covering the armor.

“Your guards won’t be coming,” Kviru said and lunged wildly with his sword. The healer had had little if any training and it showed in his form, but Lisiir still needed to use both hands to reinforce his parry. A wild slash nearly missed Lisiir’s neck.

“I’m impressed, old man,” Lisiir told him. “The jailer’s were convinced you’d expire in a fortnight. I see you’ve learned something about Illusion after all.” Lisiir gave two quick slashes to drive the other man back towards the middle of the room. Kviru dodged the first but the second caught him in the chest, cutting into the armor.

“Is this all you have to live for, revenge? You disappoint me, Kviru. I would have expected you to try to take everything back – all that I took from you.” Lisiir’s left hand flashed out sending a ball of green light at the other Altmer, but Kviru rolled away and the Paralysis spell dissipated against the wall. “You’re much quicker since my hospitality in the prison. I wonder if you have any of your strength left at all.” A feint with his dagger distracted Kviru as Lisiir slapped his body, releasing the Blind spell.

Kviru lashed out in a wide swath before backing away. His head turned back and forth, his sword lashing in all directions. Lisiir smiled as he stabbed Kviru in the shoulder. “And so, once again Illusion delivers you into my hands…” Kviru recoiled with a shout, dropping his sword and clutching at his shoulder. Red ichor leaked through his fingers.

Lisiir backhanded him, sending him to the ground. He watched as Kviru staggered to his feet, swinging blindly in all directions. “Where are you, you coward?!”

“I’m no coward,” Lisiir's voice dripped venom. “I just know weakness when I see it. And you have always been weak: you hid on your father’s farm, you hid behind the gods and their mercy, you hid behind your wife while your ‘skills’ made you wealthy. All the while your kin were struggling against pirates, necromancers, and the inferior races that enslaved us in their deluded perceptions. You are no healer; you are a parasite, leeching the blood from the Aldmer. You deserve the same fate of all who oppose the new order.” Lisiir raised his hands and began his Paralysis spell.

And suddenly Kviru was on him, wrenching the dagger from his hand and cutting cruel lines across his chest, shredding his Thalmor robes. Hate burned in his eyes, reflecting the fireplace behind them. Lisiir raised his hands to block the attack and suddenly there was unimaginable pain; he cried out as Kviru stood, dragging him towards the fire. “My hand!” Lisiir screamed.

Kviru wrenched his friend’s other arm free and raised the Elven dagger.

And then Lisiir was curling into himself as blood gushed upon the floor. Kviru towered over him. “Where’s your magic now, old friend?”

Lisiir’s face was ashen with fear. He pushed with his legs to distance himself.

Kviru looked down at the dagger before throwing it across the room. “It would be so easy,” he said. “To just cut you in pieces; to do to you what you did to me. I could heal the wounds so you wouldn’t die of blood loss. I could leave you an armless, legless trunk for my wife to find. Would she understand, I wonder? Would she see in you the wreck that you have inflicted on me? In such a state would your magic still hold sway? Would she remember the man you destroyed? In the end, I suppose it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to chop you up like some butcher. You have been the devil in my soul, Lisiir. And a devil deserves to burn in his own fire.”

Kviru raised his hands as magical flames tickled his fingers.


“This looks like the way out,” Ralaf said, approaching the cave mouth. Sunlight was pouring inside. “I knew we’d make it. Come on.”

Kviru watched him run out of the cave, but was not quick to follow. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose. Images of the past formed in his mind. The Imperials, the spiders, the dragon. Lisiir. And Neyarie. He remembered lying in bed with her the day of the speech, his eyes closed, her hand at his side. He could almost feel her lips on the back of his neck, her breath on his skin. ““How did a healer ever get so muscular?” she had asked him.

Kviru let out the breath and opened his eyes. A long line of Imperials and spiders lay dead behind him, and their blood covered the robes he was wearing; the robes of a mage lying forgotten in a cell. As the tension slowly left his muscles Kviru lowered his hands, extinguishing the magical fire.

“We become what we believe we are,” he whispered and stepped into the blinding light.

Wow, nice. The action gets a little confused, the spells should really be told by effect and not name, and you might have wanted to explain a bit more how he got out of prison, but it's quite gripping. Good job. VII of VII, though? What, it's done?

Thank you. Yes...-this- story is done. There may be more. Its a long time till he crosses the border into Skyrim (in the first story).

Sometime in the next few days I'll post some commentary on what I was going for with this fanfic. Thanks for taking the ride!