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#Post#: 372--------------------------------------------------
Tales Of...The Knights of The Nine. (PG-13)
By: McBadgere Date: April 28, 2014, 12:16 am
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RATED PG-13/RESTRICTED for some violence and occasional
swearing...
Right...Yes...Well this has been published elsewhere,
granted...But I think it's worth repeating myself some...
Those that have read it seemed to [s]claw at their faces
screaming, "MY EYES!!! MY EYES THEY BUUUUUURRNNN!!!!"[/s] enjoy
it for what it was...
I admit it took a little while for me to find my groove as to
how I wanted to do things, but when I got there, I think,
personally speaking, it was really something quite good in
places... ;D ...If I see something that's completely obvious I
need to change, I'll do it...Otherwise, it's just going as it
was elsewhere... ;) ...
Sooooo, I'm going from the start again, and we'll see if I carry
it on when we eventually get to the other end...
Hope it's enjoyable for you all...
Part 1.1 - Prologue.
Sneak...
Oh no...Nonono...Not him. Not them. Son of a Daedroth. Why do
they keep doing this? Everywhere I go one of them ruins it all.
Damned Knights.
Damn.
Let me start somewhen else.
This is me – mottled, but mostly honey coloured fur with just
the right amount of red in it. Just enough to make me just the
right amount of bad.
My name is Ras’sheena, I’m a Khajiiti. You can tell by the ears.
Oh, and my oh so winning and friendly smile.
Yes Khajiiti means I’m a girl. How can you not tell?. I know
this Mithril isn’t that figure hugging but really.
Oh yes...And by the way, I’m very good at my job. Always.
Six years ago.
There’s me, I’m the one with the box on my shoulder. Unloading
the ship moored at the Imperial City docks. Most of you will
wonder what’s a nice girl like me doing working on the docks?
Well, a girl’s got to eat hasn’t she?
We’ve got a nice crew going here. There’s me; (notice the
wiggle?...Heh, Naughty you...) And that’s J’Drell the Argonian,
he’s big; even for Lizards. (No offence by the way.) Tall,
strong, long limbed but almost graceful. Fairly new to the
docks, just moved here from Anvil he says. Good worker, always
talking and laughing.
Over there admiring the view (of me?) is my Mr Right, (Or Mr
Right-now at least...Heh, just kidding my Hearth-Kiit. You were
always the one...) M’dssark. A beautiful black broken up by grey
stripes; muscular; Athletic.
The thought makes me purr even now.
*Sigh*...
Where was I?
Oh yes...Even the foreman – Gremmand – is good; for an Imperial
that is. Short but built like a Dwarf of old - Knows how to
work; which is also good - for an Imperial. As long as we get
the job done without breaking or stealing the cargo we can act
as we please to make the day go by.
So one day, there we were, just doing our thing when M’dssark
gets called over by a Nord. Not sure of his name but I’m sure
I’d seen him before.
Then I remembered.
Sometimes when we’d been out at the inn, the Nord would be about
and he’d exchange nods with ‘Sark, so I thought nothing of it as
they walked off behind the docks wall. Gremmand frowned but I
just smiled at him. Heh, it’s funny how my smiles always seem to
work.
Anyway, ‘Sark comes back worried. I went over to him but he just
says “Later Mii-Kiit.” (Pet name...Sweet...)
I always remember turning around and catching J’Drell turning
his head away.
I never thought, not once.
In bed later...Y’know...After...M’dssark tells me of The
Blackwater Brigands.
He’d been working with them for a couple of months, keeping an
eye on the best hauls. Feeding them names, dates, crew numbers;
you know, stuff a decent Brigand needs.
Oh how much love I had for him at that moment, my very own
Pirate! In training, to be sure, but still.
Two weeks later he was dead.
They’d convinced him to help them rob The Bloated Float. The Inn
that sets out to sea for an “Added thrill to the drinking” -
Apparently. Still, it’s berthed at the end of the waterfront.
’M’dssark had heard that damned Bosmer Ormil talking about some
treasure on board and let the Blackwater lot know.
*Sigh*...
Little did we know that there would be unexpected company.
’Sark had kissed me goodbye with promise of so much gold on top
of the decent lot we already had saved; enough that we could
move away; maybe to Elsweyr.
Five of them there were against the skeleton crew of the Float.
Despite what they would have you believe, it takes more than the
two of them to run the damned thing. Anyway, one thing
Little-Chief-of-Brigands, Selene, didn’t count on was that
damned Argonian.
J’Drell finished them all off - Even my Hearth-Kiit. I know he
wouldn’t have made it easy...Good...Damned Lizard.
But still...
Damned Damn...
*Sigh*...
I paced up and down the docks awaiting the triumphant return of
King M’dssark, Lord of all Pirates! And what I got was J’Drell
staring at me as he came up the gangplank.
Oh, the blood on his armour...
He signalled the waiting Legio to take me.
Oh, how I ran.
Seems he was Legio Investigato all along.
Interrogator.
Spy.
Snaffashk more like...No, you don’t want me to translate it.
Damn...
-------------------------------------------------------
Five years ago.
Skingrad.
Oh the irony of the name.
The West Weald Inn isn’t just wall to wall drinking - “We’ve
every type of drink available in Tamriel.” (said the banner in
the Courier). Oh no. Some of us were hired as hostess girls. We
were...Of use.
Well, a girl’s got to eat hasn’t she?
Tall; athletic; apparently a “Pretty-Kitty” so you would all
say.
Oh, did I mention I’m very good at my job?...Always...
So there I am...Um, working...When one of my regulars – a Bosmer
called Maglir – comes back from a job for his Fighters Guild
shaking like a leaf. “I’m not going back there” he wailed.
Later, having calmed him down, I asked what had happened. He
told me of a cave full of Zombies.
The idea makes me shudder even now...So wrong...Anyway, he said
it was just too much for him. Not worth losing his life to do a
stupid job like that.
A week or so later into my life walks another giant, this one in
almost full Ebony armour; except for the Dwarven helmet - You
notice that sort of thing - Anyhow, Maglir told me later he was
a Nord called Farn. When this Farn had returned a few hours
later with the journal that had been Maglir’s original contract,
and offered him the chance to take it in himself, Maglir had
told him to do whatever he wanted. “I’ve a wife and kids to
think about” he’d said. Later, I’d asked him about that. “No, I
haven’t a wife. It always gets the good guys going though.” He’d
said, ”Heh...Still, I’ve been thinking about it lately...Do you
want to get married?...To me perhaps?”
Oh Oblivion...
I’d said yes - We got married.
We took the money that I’d re-made the...Um...Hard way, and
bought a cabin in Bravil. Not the prettiest but it was ours.
Maglir, after a few months of dull grind with the Fighters Guild
got a better offer. More money; better weapons; Safer he’d said.
The Blackwood Company they called themselves.The hairs on the
back of my neck stood on end when he said the name. I explained
about M’dssark and the Blackwater, but he’d said I was being
silly. ”Nothing to worry about”.
I saw that Nord walking through Bravil one day as I was going to
my work in the castle (Maglir had mentioned my natural talents.)
No, not them.
The scouting ones we’d been honing...Um...
Anyways, the Bravil Guard (Yes I know...a girl’s got to eat
though.) they needed help in the forest, and had asked me to
help that morning.
Farn had looked at me through that helmet. I couldn’t see his
eyes, but I knew he was looking at me. I almost ran.
A month later Maglir was called to Blackwater headquarters in
Leyawiin. He’d told me to wait for him in Bravil as he wouldn’t
be long. But the Guard, they’d asked me to help track a troop of
Goblins headed towards Leyawiin - We got them - So I found
myself in Leyawiin. I’d asked at an Inn for directions.
I was walking along the street.
It was the noise that got to me.
That sickeningly intense sound of heavy, thick, reinforced doors
splitting, disintegrating then crashing into the road. My
brilliant, wonderful, funny and - above all – happy Maglir. His
broken body pinned to what was left of the doors by an Ebony
Claymore. Gods only know how hard that had been thrown.
And then, out of the shadows walks Farn.
He looks about at the stunned spectators, daring them to say
something...Anything...Oh Gods why couldn’t the Guard do
something?
Then...
And then he looks down the road, right at me. He raised his hand
and I ran so fast.
I’ve never seen where – or even if - my Maglir was buried.
Kynraeth bless him...
Even though I’ve been back there, I’ve never been able to find
out from anyone.
Poor Maglir...
I even left the little shack in Bravil...Couldn’t face staying
there anymore.
Damned Farn...Damned Nords...
Damn...
So then the “truth” comes out in the Courier about how Blackwood
have been using mind-altering drugs (sooo different from using
magic to help you fight, of course...) to help them fight and it
caused them to do horrible, disgraceful things.
Well, maybe they did kill an entire village to get at some
goblins; But still, not my Maglir, surely?.
Oh, and then they make Farn head of the Fighters Guild?
No. Justice. Ever.
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#Post#: 610--------------------------------------------------
Re: Tales Of...The Knights of The Nine.
By: Elisabeth Hollow Date: April 29, 2014, 10:47 am
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I remember this!!
#Post#: 638--------------------------------------------------
Re: Tales Of...The Knights of The Nine. (PG-13)
By: McBadgere Date: April 29, 2014, 3:29 pm
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Thank you... ;D ...
That's more than I did... :D ...
I was surprised when I was editing it for posting how much I'd
forgotten...I'm looking forward to reading it again as I post
it...even if no one else reads it... :P ...
Thanks again...*Inclines head*...
#Post#: 1755--------------------------------------------------
Re: Tales Of...The Knights of The Nine. (PG-13)
By: McBadgere Date: May 4, 2014, 11:55 am
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Thanks again Liz... ;D ...
This isn't exactly the same as the other one...I'm definitely
finding some stuff that needs sorting - a subtle rewrite here
and there, nothing serious - so I'm doing that as I re-edit
it... ;D ...
But anyways...To continue...
Part 1.2 - Prologue
Sneak part 2…
So a short while later, the world goes to ruin. The Emperor
betrayed by his Dragon Guard. The desperate and doomed flight
underground. Oblivion gates all over Tamriel. No-one dared
travel for so many weeks. Not with all the Deadra everywhere.
Suddenly out of all the horror came the saviours. We’d all heard
the rumours, for The Knights of the Nine had returned!!
It sounded so...Amazing.
Truly...
But slowly and surely, they were everywhere. Around the country
gates were closed by knights, clad in white tabards, with a red
diamond on the chest.
Or something like.
Out of nowhere, one name was suddenly on everyone’s lips -
Robert McWylde, Commander of the Knights.
Finding a lost heir to the Empire; Closing gates; Thwarting a
cult.
A saving the Count of Cheydinhal’s son here, one running into a
Gate alone and saving Bruma from a Siege-Engine there.
Damned Mr Perfect...
He’d even gone one-on-one with the Daedric Prince himself...And
lived...
Just four of the Knights had gone to the Imperial City with the
heir. How quickly would it have ended with more?
Ah, they’re not all Gods...Just...You know…Most of them.
At the end of the month or so of horror, death and destruction,
they’d named McWylde Champion of Cyrodill. At the ceremony he’d
been all gracious and named all the knights that had helped,
saying that, “They too were deserving of being named Champions;
as were all the Imperial Legionnaires and City Guardsmen that
had sacrificed so much.” but sadly he didn’t know their names.
Chancellor Ocato had simply joked “We can’t make enough suits
for you all.”
McWylde had accepted the suit, but chose to put it on display at
the Priory of the Nine in tribute to everyone rather than
abandon his Crusader armour.
Oh and then he got married and the world went
crazy...Again...Damned Courier.
Rumour has it that McWylde was Legio Elitarii. The Emperor’s Own
they called them; under the command of no-one but the Emperor. -
hence the name I suspect.
Not just the best of the best, but better than that even.
Bet that stung Marick Gellert.
Another rumour is that Gellert was prevented from joining by the
Emperor for some reason.
Still, Gellert got promoted to Imperial Commander and the
Legion’s vaunted Dragon Company got formed out of it all. And
while everyone was marvelling at their exploits and
grandstanding, the Elitarii were always quietly and efficiently
doing their job.
Well...That’s the rumour anyway...
For some reason – and we’ll probably never know why – the
Emperor turned McWylde loose from the Elitarii a few months
before he turns up again as the Knights’ Commander.
Maybe things were worse than we all thought...Anyhow, the rest
is history...
Aren’t biographies great? I hardly ever read them myself.
The First Edition in Imperial City has many good ones...So I’ve
been told...
Damn...
Damned damn...
----------------------------------------------------------------
-------
Anyway, from then on the Knights of the Nine grew, until they
had a Chapter in every city. And then they get their own city.
The Elder Council and all the city rulers and dignitaries - in
their mighty wisdom - gave them an old ruined city to rebuild.
New Kvatch it’s called.
Catchy name...Guess where the site of that was?...
Took them ages to clear the ruins and re-do.
Nice job they did too...I must admit...
----------------------------------------------------------------
As for me...
I drifted from city to city, job to job - Always very good at
them though. I had an incident with a despicable, horrible man
in Skingrad (again, guess where I worked...Very good...) called
Glarthir which led to some odd man called Lucien coming into my
room to offer me a job - Well, a girl’s got to eat hasn’t she? -
So off I run to an Inn of Ill Omen...(A little on the nose, but
who am I to question?)...I kill some strange little man who I
have no idea about; then I meet up with the Lucien who tells me
of a house to go to in Cheydinhal.
When I get there, I discover that it’s all going on downstairs.
No, I mean...Nevermind...
Through a portal in the cellar, expecting some sort of greet,
what do I find? - Everyone’s dead. Except for a little Wood-Elf,
in a Knights cuirass. ”Hello,” he says, “I’m afraid they’re
closed for business.” He narrowed his eyes “Best run
along...Now.”
I ran...
Lucien turned up dead in Skingrad - Thrown out of a window into
the street. Not getting up with his neck bent that way...Or that
axe in his head.
Bosmer lady Knight this time.
I ran...
*Sigh*
----------------------------------------------------------------
-----------
Two years ago...
By now I was living in Anvil, helping out on the docks. Not as
much fun as before but – you know – A girl has got to eat.
One day a man called Jayred Grice turns up at my door. A
handsome older man, (so far as I’m a judge) whitening hair,
intelligent eyes; fantastic smile. Spoke with a drawl, like
honey.
He was an ex-Dragon Company officer that had, with a “silent
partner”, just started a new honest mercenary company called -
Wait for it - The Dragon Company.
They were trying to reclaim his and his Company’s honour he’d
said. Amongst those he’d recruited were a couple of ex-Bravil
Guardsmen who had told him of me and my astounding scouting
abilities - See, very good. Anyhow, he’s been trying to get his
company off the ground; try to take some of the work that the
Fighters Guild and even the Knights have been flooded with since
the Crisis.
It was not going well.
Too much bad feeling attached to the name it seems; even if it
had been proved that not all the Dragon Company had had anything
to do with betraying the Emperor.
The Investigato had proved Jayred and some of his co-horts
innocent.
But Grice was not for changing it, said he would succeed even if
it killed him.
”Besides,” he’d said, smiling, “It’d cost too much to change the
armour.”
A dragon - shockingly - rendered as if flying to the left but
its tail curled around to form the outside of the G.
Very clever I must say.
Sign of a man with too much time on his hands maybe.
But I digress...
After a few months it was obvious that it wasn’t working and
Grice was sullen, which was an mood I’d never thought to see on
that man.
To try and help him up I...Offered myself to him.
My most figure hugging dress...You know how it goes...
”Bless you ‘Sheena,” he’d said smiling – finally! ”You do
flatter an old soldier...But we can’t.”
My heart sank.
”Oh no...” He added, seeing the look on my face, “Nono; I think
you’re beautiful...I really am flattered. But for one I am still
your boss, and for another...My...Partner doesn’t hold with...”
Jayred paused, wincing “with other...Species...
“I’m so sorry ‘Sheena...”
I saw apology, regret and shame in his eyes, and I believed his
apology, absolutely.
To try and diffuse the...Tension...He started to tell of
something he’d been thinking about.
“I’ve been thinking of moving the business...Elsewhere.” He’d
looked me straight in the eye before he said, ”Elsweyr...”
Oh how my heart had leapt!!
Grice was basically planning a Fighters Guild style group but in
Elsweyr.
”Seems it might work better there,” he said, “as they don’t seem
to care who we were...”
I was to be in charge of the teams!!
Grice was coming too but I was his...Liaison?...Strange word,
but basically I was to be the one that looked after the troops,
report back to Jayred, and all the while still handling the big
jobs that needed my help.
I was to be a busy-Kitty again!
We got rich!
We made so much money even the lowest ranks were well-off. Who’d
have thought that a country with such tension would need such
help.
But who am I to complain...
Grice would hold feasts for the troops to celebrate.
Usually, after the drink had flowed, he’d tell us all stories of
the Glory Days of the old Dragon Company and Marrick Gellert.
One night I remember with a shudder was when one young boy
(Damain, his name was) asks with total innocence,
“Was there anything that Gellert was actually afraid of?”
A jeering and laughing clamour had erupted around the tables.
But Grice had smiled genuine warmth towards the boy.
“Yes son, he was afraid of only two things in his life...” He’d
paused, ”Robert McWylde and Farn Olfsson. If you ever get on the
wrong side of either of them...Run...Just run...”
He then told us the story of when on patrol, Gellert, himself
and two more had managed to let themselves get ambushed by Ogres
- The crowd had laughed.
”Yes I know, not the stealthiest of creatures, but there you go.
So here we are, fighting for our lives against the damned
things, and even that Dragon-hammer’s hardly denting them.
"All of a sudden one of them falls flat on their face...Well,
with a warhorse landing on their head you’d think it wouldn’t
have a choice.
"Farn..."Grice paused and looked those closest to the front in
the eyes, "Looking at him I couldn’t decide which to be more
scared of – Him or the Ogres.” Grice smiled; more laughing, “He
took it all in in a second, jumped off his horse – which
promptly took on another Ogre itself – ripped the hammer from
Marrick’s hands and hurled it at the nearest Ogre. The hammer
took its head off. I think the two that were left after the
horse’d trampled the one he’d been hammering must’ve realised
what was coming and tried to escape." Grice shook his head at
the memory, "Anyone ever heard an Ogre scream?..I don’t think
many have...
”Once it was all over Gellert had tried to thank Farn for his
help. The Nord had simply stared at him, got on his horse and
left. Marrick was ill for a couple of weeks following that. We
covered for him, but the three of us who’d been with him thought
we understood what had happened - Gellert wasn’t as all powerful
as he’d believed himself...Seen quite how human he actually
was...
"Mind you against Farn I think anyone’d doubt himself...So yes,
Gellert was afraid of something...”
“What about McWylde?” Damain had asked.
Jayred smiled and simply said - “Next time...”
----------------------------------------------------------------
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#Post#: 2401--------------------------------------------------
Re: Tales Of...The Knights of The Nine. (PG-13)
By: McBadgere Date: May 9, 2014, 1:27 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Last part of the Prologue, you lucky people you...
Part 1.3 - Prologue
Sneak part 3…
A month ago...
We found the damned things in a cave outside Corinthe.
The cave had seemed unremarkable, but someone had obviously
pulled the roof down at some point. Not quite obscuring an
entrance that led further into the dark, leaving just the
outdoors hole into the mountain to say it had been there.
Farian, our Battlemage had been sure there was something buried
in the dark depths, so we took the time to clear and prop and
boslter.
Wish we’d not bothered.
As soon as we get inside, the hairs on the back of my neck stand
on end. Three of these things are in there. They made straight
for Farian. He’d tried to defend himself but the first one
got to him; And then the world went mad again.
The creature had simply put his giant hands either side of
Farian’s head. The mage had screamed for all he was worth.
The silence afterwards though.
He’d just...stopped.
Then out of his mouth came words, but not his...Sounded so
strange...
“[font=times new roman]Nnn...No...No
Hurt...Feed...Please...Alone...Long.[/font]”
“What do you need?” I’d asked, terrified of
the answer.
Well, then the damned thing’s mouth opens up and a ball of
light comes out.
Next thing there a boar standing in the middle of the room - So
I guess it eats boar, not people - We fed them, they let Farian
go, and we go back to base with the promise to return having
sealed the cave up.
Back there we tell Grice of the monsters.
Damain turns out to be a bookworm and does some research.
Couple of days later he comes back with an answer, ”Could
it be these?” he’d asked, pointing to a pict in the
book.
Oh Oblivion...I won’t say the name...
Even the name scares me...And I’d seen them!...
But they’re so old...It was said that they were all
gone...
“We need them,” says Grice, suddenly vicious,
”My partner will want one too...Hope they don’t get
separation stress...”
“We need to ask them first...” I’d
said...”I don’t think we’d be able to make
them do anything.”
Damain coughed, “It says here that to deal with...”
He’d gestured to mean the whole world “Everyone
else...they always need...The One...To be the focus...Which I
think means what they did to Farian...I think...He has to be a
mage...”
Damn.
Damned Damn...
Prisoners.
Grice was actually more vicious than I’d thought.
We’d raided a fort nearby a few days ago and taken a few
of the Conjurors alive. He’d given them all a choice -
help us, or be turned over to the tribes for punishment. Most
chose to help, but we only needed the three.
So the “lucky” few were put on a cart and taken to
the cave.
I couldn’t watch.
When it was all over, Grice – who’d come with us
– Talked to the creatures.
“Why were you in here?”
“[font=times new
roman]People...Feared...Pull...Down...Wrong...No
Hurt.[/font]”
“Will you help us? We know what you can do.”
“[font=times new roman]Do Not...No Hurt...Yes Can
Help...No Hurt.[/font]”
Grice had paused, admiring the creatures; possibly wondering how
to phrase the next part, “We need to send one of you
away...Somewhere far...Can we do that?”
“[font=times new roman]All Places One...We All Places
Together...Far...Near...All One...We
Hear...Yes...Send.[/font]”
And just like that, we had three ancient, presumed extinct
creatures working with us.
Jayred had sent a message back to Cyrodill, telling of the
prize.
A couple of weeks later the message returned that the
“Partner” was as excited as Grice and that transport
should start straight away.
Guess who was given that job?
Oh yes...Me...The curse of being very good I suppose.
I was given the location to head for with instructions to meet
the local party near Anvil.
Oh it was going to be strange going back there after so long,
but it was only for a short while.
“Two things,” Grice had said to me before a couple
of days before I’d left, “Leave the uniform
behind...No, I didn’t mean that...” He’d
smiled,” I mean you can’t have anything linking to
us if...Anything happened...Gods forbid...Oh, and the other
thing...My partner’s people may not be so...Courteous
towards you...Just ignore them...Ignorant fools...”
He’d given me a kiss on the cheek and after that
didn’t see him before I left.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Now...
Damn.
Damned Damn...
We’re here.
Fort Freedom.
We avoided everyone and everything getting here, and what do we
find when we get to the gates off the road?
Nothing.
No-one.
The local Captain that met us was worried as there should be at
least a couple of guards here.
He’d suggested so politely that myself and a couple of the
other scouts go ahead to check around the fort to see what could
have gone wrong.
Well I’ll tell you what went wrong...
Damnable Knights, that’s what.
Why in Oblivion are they here?
Who is this damned partner?
I found their horses in the woods around the side of the fort,
guarded by a Dunmer and one of those damned Wraiths they can
call.
I couldn’t get close to the Dunmer without alerting the
Wraith, so I headed for the fort itself.
Damn...
The ever feted J’Drell.
Judging by the amount of horses, there’s more inside...
What is he doing?...
Why is he moving like that?...
I’ve seen stealthier Mudcrabs...
What the?...
What’s that?...
I think they’ve found one of the others...
Damn...
I must get back to the rest...What?...Aaaah!...
Oh, no!!...
Damn...
Damn damn!!...
Gods not like this...
Not here...
[font=timesnewroman]I stand up from an oh so pretty body...With
a dagger through its neck...we were once an I, a person...Now we
don’t remember her name...Now we don‘t remember
I...The Great Pride calls us...We are all the Great Pride...The
Greatest One calls me to run...
I run[/font]...
#Post#: 3324--------------------------------------------------
Re: Tales Of...The Knights of The Nine. (PG-13)
By: McBadgere Date: May 30, 2014, 8:57 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Hello... ;) ...
While I appreciate that this story may not be written to
everyone's tastes...I did labour over it - heavily at times -
and yet managed to have much fun at the same time...And am very
proud of much of it...
However, I hadn't a clue what I was doing in the early
stages...Clearly...
So, as of now, the early bits will be cleaned up, partly
re-ordered and re-written...And also, in some cases...New stuff
put in...
I'm pretty sure that I'm much better at it than I was...And
also, more definite about my style...What I do, is what I
do...And I enjoy it...Again, if it's not how everyone else would
do it...Apologies...But I'm doing it my way...So there... :P ...
This here, and for the next few posts, is the first new Knights
stuff to be written since about October 2012...And while it will
find its way to the other place eventually...It's going to be
here first...
Unless I forget... :D ...
So...Here...The all new Part 2...Which is very nearly what I
should have done in the first place...Had I thought about it in
time... ;D ...
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Knights of The Nine...
Part 2.1 - The Prophet's Walk/The Lamplighter/The not-quite
man...
The Prophet’s Walk was nothing remarkable; merely a covered
walkway between two points in what is ironically referred to as
“Old” New Kvatch.
A white stone paved walk, with oaken benches and flower planters
placed along its length that did nothing to narrow the space. A
length of six foot tall, black painted iron railings ran either
side of the paved width. Gates set halfway along either length,
led to the backyards of a pair of unremarkable buildings.
At equal distances along the pathway, shaped iron columns rose
to hold up an A-shaped frame, into which were slotted opaque
glass panels, forming a roof which ran the entire length of the
walkway.
The Prophet’s Walk should have merely been an unmemorable
through route, a pleasant, rainproof way of getting from the
mainly residential area of Pelinal Fields through to the more
commercial area of Goldwin Square. However, it wasn’t, as almost
everyone in New Kvatch had heard of The Walk and the fact that
people seemed to intensely dislike walking there.
Rumour had it, that it was haunted. Though by what, no one was
exactly sure. There were always a few that spoke of spectres,
ghosts and wraiths – the usual. But more than a few of these
stories tended to come from solitary workers using the most
direct route to stumble home after too many ales.
The strongest mystics, the holiest priests and even the most
powerful and celebrated of the Knights had all searched through
all available means to find a cause of the disquiet every single
person that walked there had felt, but no theory was
forthcoming; no answer found.
And yet, even though the haunted rumour had begun even as it was
being built, people persisted with the pathway. In the end, most
linked the bad feeling with some echo of the Oblivion crisis;
some emotional scarring that Nirn still felt from the violence
and violation visited upon her so recently.
Of late though, the walkway was starting to show signs of
neglect. The brown paint on the benches and planters was
starting to flake, as was the black on the ironwork. The glass
panels were starting to suffer from the accumulated debris that
would blow onto the roof or the greening from the lingering
dampness that accompanied the salty storms that would blow in
off the sea, the Gold Coast not all that far away. Whatever the
negative energy was had caused the workers’ water blasting
undines – that they had used to clean the glass from time to
time – to misbehave to the point where there was little point in
attempting anything other than manual cleaning. And despite the
Knights’ legendary meticulousness when it came to organisation,
maintaining The Prophet’s Walk had managed to not appear on any
list of works to be carried out.
Neither was it patrolled by the Watch regularly, those given
that route to follow only did so during the day. While crime was
little heard of in New Kvatch it was not entirely absent either.
It could be expected that the haunted pathway would be a magnet
for ne’erdowells; a quiet, lonely place where very few people –
or witnesses – would be around. But there also was the problem.
If the feeling of dark dread that most would feel on being on
the Walk didn’t drive the would-be robber off, the fact that so
few potential victims went that way in the first place surely
would.
Only one man in the city had no fear whatsoever of the path; the
Lamplighter. The one whose job it was to maintain and light the
lamps in a certain area. Daf Skeisson laughed every time he
heard a new story of the walkway. For the few years that the
place had been in existence, he’d tended to the lamps there and
knew there was nothing strange or haunted about the place. Daf
had worked there as happy on one day as he was the next. “The
Prophet’s Walk was nothing remarkable,” he would maintain,
“merely a covered walkway between two points of New Kvatch.”
And then something remarkable happened on it.
----------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------
The lanterns that hung down from the roof’s apex rocked in the
breeze that seemed in a rush to get from one end of the Walk to
the other.
The most central lamp had gone out, several others guttering
from lack of fuel. The lanterns had been burning for a few days
now as when Daf Skeisson had last fuelled and lit them, it was
the last time anyone had gone near the place. Now that the old
man had passed away suddenly, it was possible that the lamps
would remain unlit for a good long while.
The squeak of the lanterns’ rocking in the breeze sounded like a
mournful keening as they moved to and fro.
Suddenly, the central lamp burst into light and stopped swaying;
as did all the others. The breeze abruptly stopped, as if it had
decided to abandon the Walk altogether.
Where an instant before was nothing, there now stood a figure; a
man, it seemed.
The man tilted his head and looked up at the lantern above him.
The metal and glass box seemed to start straining at its chain
in an effort to fall down, the flame inside appeared to be
burning sideways; the flames’ end curling downwards.
Closer inspection of that which appeared to be a man saw that he
had closely – almost militaristically so – cropped grey hair, a
neatly trimmed beard which framed a pleasant smile, a smile
whose joy reached eyes of a complete and unnatural amber.
That which was not merely a man reached up towards the lantern
and paused, looking at his hand, turning it about in the light,
as if seeing it for the first time. A quiet laugh came from the
figure, one that surprised him, and he put a hand to his mouth.
“Oh my.” said the not quite man, then a moment later smiled
broadly again. “HAH!”
The figure looked down at itself; he appeared to be wearing a
three quarters length militaristic woollen coat, over a leather
waistcoat, white shirt and a pair of pressed but utilitarian
military trousers tied with, what appeared to be a scarf, which
seemed to amuse the not-quite man immensely.
He stamped what appeared to be his formerly favourite boots on
the ground just to see what would happen. When the ground shook
and the lanterns rattled, he thought better of the plan with a
somewhat guilty look on his face.
The lantern above him stopped swaying and resumed its strained
attempt at falling.
The not-quite man looked about himself and tilted his head. He
balled his fists and then quickly opened his fingers again.
All along The Prophet’s Walk, the feeling of serenity replaced
the one of dread and disquiet. The lamps were instantly filled
with fuel, the light clear and strong; all the flowers in the
planters were suddenly full-bloom and healthy; all the paintwork
restored and bright; the glass perfect in its cleanliness.
“Hmmm.” The figure said to himself and looked towards the sky at
the pre-dawn lightening in the East, “I wonder if there’s time
for a drink and some cheese. I have missed cheese.”
After all, it had been nearly five hundred years since he had
tasted any.
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#Post#: 3485--------------------------------------------------
Re: Tales Of...The Knights of The Nine. (PG-13)
By: treydog Date: May 31, 2014, 5:45 am
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Oh... this is gonna be so much FUN! Well- perhaps not for the
characters actually IN the story.... but I am one of those
folks who prefers to read about other people (tm) having
adventures as I sit in the comfort of my den sipping tea....
And you yet again take a "minor character," in this case the
Lamplighter, and make him essential to the atmosphere and the
events of the story. One day, if I am a very good doggie, I
will figure out how you manage that....
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