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lake-arrius-caverns · 4 years ago

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Nerevarine Rising

Chapter 13: Three’s A Crowd

hey just a PSA that since i’ve fallen behind (this chapter is ridiculously late) i’m going to take a short break from posting for a while to work on building up a buffer! (join our discord and bug me to write pls)

summary Fahjoth is hopeful that tensions between Julan and Ribyna will settle, but their animosity risks a guild assignment going pear-shaped.

content warnings violence, blood, minor character death

read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍

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He stood quietly awaiting a response after rapping his knuckles on the door, but only a heavy silence greeted him. Frowning, Fahjoth tried again, a little more forcefully this time. This was the right room, wasn’t it?

The third knock finally yielded a result. From within the room came a low, long groan, and Fahjoth took that as his cue to open the door a sliver and peer inside.

“Rise and shine,” he called, trying to hold back a grin at the state his friend was in. Julan was slouched on the bed, fully clothed and burying his face in his hands. “How are you feeling?”

“Ugh… fantastic,” came Julan’s gruff response. “Why did you let me drink so much?”

“You’re the one who kept asking for more! Want me to stop you next time?”

“Yes.” Julan paused. “Maybe. I don’t know. Sheogorath, it feels like my head’s about to explode…”

Fahjoth chuckled, pushing the door open a little more to step inside. “Are you up for training today? Or d’you need some time to, uh… recover?”

“No, no, I’ll be fine,” Julan insisted, hauling himself to his feet and staggering slightly on the spot as he fought to balance himself. “So how come you’re looking so fresh this early?”

“Early?” Fahjoth repeated. “Mate, it’s gone midday.”

“It has?” Julan squinted at Fahjoth as he rubbed his head. “Gods… alright, there’s no time to waste then. What’s the plan?”

“Well, I thought maybe we could do something a bit more practical today,” Fahjoth started. “How d’you fancy taking out a bandit leader?”

“Bandits? Sure.”

With no sign of Cosades to be seen that morning, Fahjoth had stopped by the Fighters Guild to find something, anything to keep him busy and to keep the gold coming in. While the prospect of facing an entire gang of bandits by himself was daunting, he was a little more confident that he and Julan would be able to deal with it together. And having Ribyna tag along couldn’t hurt, although he hoped that she and Julan would be able to put their differences aside for the time being.

Julan continued to chatter as he sat back down again to pull on his boots. “D’you do this sort of thing regularly?”

“Sort of.” Fahjoth leaned against the doorframe, waiting and watching idly. “I’ve done a few jobs for the Fighters Guild to earn a bit more gold. Nothing this big before, mind.”

“The Fighters Guild? You’ve never mentioned that. Fighters… they’re alright, I guess.” Julan suddenly looked up, eyes wide. “Hey, have you ever seen a Nord hit himself in the face with his own hammer?”

“No?”

Julan sighed, a grin growing on his face. “Well, me neither, but I live in hope.” He stood up and approached the doorway, patting Fahjoth on the shoulder as he reached him. “After you.”

Fahjoth laughed as he headed out of the cornerclub, feeling an odd excitement begin to quiver somewhere in his gut. Or was that nervousness? Whatever it was, the feeling intensified as he stepped outside and came face-to-face with his twin, who was leaning against the wall and looking bored stiff as she waited for them.

“About fucking time,” Ribyna muttered, and as Julan stepped out after him, Fahjoth heard him falter. His good mood instantly took a nosedive; he had been hopeful for a few more moments of peace at least before the hostilities began again.

“Are you still up for coming with us to Suran, Beebs?” Fahjoth asked, in an attempt to ease the tension.

“Why the fuck else d’you think I’d be stood here like a lemon waiting for you?” She jerked her head towards Julan. “The question is whether drunk tank here can cope with it.”

Julan frowned. “I’ll be fine.”

“You sure about that? You got pretty hammered last night.” Ribyna’s voice was casual, but the glare she fixed Julan with was hard and cold. “You almost drank a hole in Fahji’s coin purse.”

“What does that even—”

“Guys!” Fahjoth said abruptly, rubbing his temple as he spoke. Better to nip this in the bud before it became blown out of proportion. “Let’s get going, shall we? It’s a fair way to Suran. It’d be nice to get there before it gets dark.”

Neither Ribyna nor Julan continued to bicker, but the scathing looks they shot at each other instead left Fahjoth’s nerves shot. Julan’s eyes eventually met Fahjoth’s own and he began to look quite guilty.

“Sorry, Fahjoth,” Julan said. “Go ahead.”

Fahjoth flashed Julan a small smile of appreciation before setting off out of town. The balmy afternoon sun warming the top of his head offered little comfort as he dreaded having to break up fight after fight between his two companions, an outcome that was looking more likely by the minute.

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The journey to Suran passed mostly in a very strained silence. Fahjoth would make conversation with Julan or with Ribyna, but never both at the same time, as they seemed to be doing their best to ignore each other. Fahjoth wasn’t sure whether he preferred that over the snide comments and defensive retorts.

His contact in Suran, Serjo Avon Oran, resided in what was possibly the grandest house Fahjoth had ever set foot in. Delicate steps and care to avoid breaking or dirtying anything led the three to Oran; on speaking to him, Fahjoth learned that the bandits were occupying a cave among the hills to the northeast.

“Be careful,” Oran had cautioned. “Nasty piece of work, those bandits. But take out their leader, Daldur Sarys, and the rest should scatter. Good luck.”

With this advice in mind, Fahjoth was thoughtful as they exited Oran Manor and stepped out into the cool Suran evening.

“I felt so weird being in a house like that,” Julan remarked. “I was expecting someone to yell at me for trailing muck all over their floor…”

“You know, you were trailing a lot more than muck in there,” Ribyna replied. She sniffed, looking down at Julan’s boots. “Is that guar shit?”

A momentary flash of alarm crossed Julan’s face and he hastily lifted up his foot to check the underside of his shoe, only to scowl as Ribyna in turn cackled like a hyena.

“Don’t listen to her, she’s winding you up,” Fahjoth said with a sigh. “Right, well, if you’re done, shall we get going? We’re losing daylight. Unless we got a room for the night and headed out first thing.”

“Oh no, I’m not hanging around any longer than I need to!” Ribyna insisted, already turning on her heel and strolling out under the town’s entrance archway. “We’re going. What are you? Men or scribs?”

“You know that shit doesn’t work on me!” Fahjoth called, but nonetheless he followed suit, glancing back to ensure that Julan was following.

“Well, come on then! You and Guar-Boy better get a move on, or those bandits will have died of old age by the time we get there.”

Fahjoth said nothing, merely trotted along in Ribyna’s wake with an exasperated roll of his eyes. Likewise, Julan was quiet, but when Fahjoth risked a peek back at him, he caught him furiously mouthing “Guar-Boy?!” under his breath.

The road to Saturan was pleasantly empty. With the shadows cast by the sun growing as it sank behind the hills, plunging them into the bitterly chilly shade, Fahjoth was grateful that they encountered no trouble along the way.

By the time they located Saturan, dusk had come and gone, leaving only clear dark skies glittering with distant stars overhead. Fahjoth shivered as he stared at the cave entrance, the dilapidated wooden door concealing the unknown that lay within. He took a few cautious steps closer and gently pushed the door open, wincing as the hinges emitted a slight, shrill creak. The inside of the cave stretched further in than Fahjoth could see, its earthy tunnels lit by bracketed torches propped up on long iron poles jutting up from the ground.

The entrance cave meandered on for a short distance, descending deeper into the hill until opening up into a much larger cavern. The path was supplemented by a rough wooden boardwalk, its far end strewn with crates and candles and a ladder leading down to the lower levels. Fahjoth scuttled along, taking care not to hit his head on the low-hanging stalactites until he reached the crates, and beckoned Julan and Ribyna along behind him as he tucked himself behind one. Here, they looked down upon the lower boardwalk, where a few others paced back and forth, carrying boxes and sacks of loot back and forth. Fahjoth’s gaze was fixed down below, but he heard Ribyna and Julan settling down and crouching on either side.

“So, these must be the bandits,” Julan whispered. “Have you got a plan?”

“Sort of,” Fahjoth answered. “We need to get to the leader, somehow. Daldur Sarys. If we can take him out with a sneak attack, the rest should scatter like Oran said.”

“Right! So… how do we get to Sarys? Which one is Sarys, anyway?”

Fahjoth paused, frowning as he stared down at the bandit activity below. Truthfully, it was impossible to know exactly who their target was; all they could do was hope to hear his name brought up in conversation and go from there. But how long could they stay put, before someone discovered them and raised the alarm?

As Fahjoth pondered this rather pressing dilemma, he became aware of a soft rustling and clinking coming from his left. He glanced over, his heart beginning to hammer as he watched Ribyna idly rummaging through one of the crates.

“Oh hey, look!” She held up what seemed to be a bottle of sujamma, admiring it in the soft orange light of a nearby candle. “There’s loads of this shit in here! We won’t have to buy drinks for like, a week with this lot.”

Like Fahjoth, Julan’s agitation was evident.

“Put that down, they’ll hear you!” he hissed, lunging for the bottle. Though he made contact, Ribyna refused to relinquish it, keeping a firm grip on it herself.

“Piss off, Guar-Boy, get your own!”

“I’m not trying to steal it, you s’wit!”

“Oh yeah, right-o! I bet you’d be happy to guzzle this whole crate by yourself, you fucking alchie!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?! Let go—!”

With one sharp tug from Julan, the bottle was wrenched from Ribyna’s grip. But Julan, not expecting Ribyna to let go, toppled back and hit the boardwalk with a dull thud. His elbow struck the wood and the bottle was flung from his grasp, sailing over the side of the boardwalk and crashing against the wooden deck below, shattering on impact and splattering its sweet, frothy innards in a graceful explosion of liquor.

“Shit—!”

Fahjoth ducked back behind the crates, keeping himself as low to the ground as possible as he reached out towards Julan and hauled him back to safety as soon as he felt their hands meet. As the three huddled together, their breathing laboured with the effort of remaining as silent as possible, Fahjoth strained his ears to listen.

It was quiet. Far too quiet. The sounds of activity below ceased entirely as all bandits froze in their tracks.

“What the hell?”

Over the sound of Fahjoth’s own rapid heartbeat reverberating in his head, he listened to the soft creaking of the wooden planks beneath the bandits’ cautious feet becoming louder as the seconds ticked by. They couldn’t remain there for much longer.

“Fahjoth,” Julan whispered, “we have to do something.” He paused to listen for a moment before continuing with the same hushed urgency, “If we all rush out at the same time, maybe we can catch them off-guard.”

“Yeah. It’s our best chance,” Fahjoth agreed. “Alright... ready? One... two... three!”

Julan led the assault. He vaulted down the steps and engaged with the first bandit, an Orc who was unlucky enough to be standing closest. As Fahjoth followed suit, from his periphery he saw Ribyna leap over the crates and land on the lower boardwalk where she lunged at the closest bandit. The force from her collision knocked them both clean off the edge, causing a loud squelch as they landed in the muck beneath.

Fahjoth drew his weapon as he charged forward and the Redguard bandit in front of him scrambled back for distance, reaching for his own axe. But Fahjoth was faster, and the Redguard hollered as his hand was struck with Fahjoth’s sword, leaving an angry, weeping welt across his knuckles. With the blade sailing ever closer, the Redguard threw up both hands in an act of surrender.

“I yield!” he cried, and Fahjoth ceased his attack. There was no way he could kill a surrendering man... But his sword hand did not waver, and after a second he spoke the first thing that came to mind.

“I’ll give you one chance,” he said, his voice heavy with threat. “Your group’s done. Get out.”

The Redguard needed no encouragement. Edging around Fahjoth’s sword, he broke into a sprint up the steps and fled, his footsteps echoing down the cavern until the creaking of the door in the distance announced his departure.

As he caught his breath, Fahjoth glanced around to see how his companions were faring. His eyes fell on Julan; his sword was slick with blood and his opponent had dropped twitching to the ground, and a surge of admiration welled up in Fahjoth’s chest. He opened his mouth to call over to him, but the air froze in his chest as a shadow caught his eye.

A hunched figure crept closer to Julan, the glint of a blade flashing in the candlelight as it was drawn from its sheath.

“Julan!” Fahjoth yelled, kicking off into a mad dash back up the boardwalk to his friend. The figure, a Dunmer, recognising that his cover had been blown, fully brandished his weapon and rushed towards Julan as well. As Julan raised his own sword, Fahjoth caught up with the bandit and threw himself legs-first at the bandit’s ankles.

A burning pain radiated out from his shin as the bandit’s foot collided with it. Fahjoth skidded to the ground, but his effort had been enough. The Dunmer, tripped up by Fahjoth’s sliding tackle, stumbled forward — and directly into range of Julan’s shortsword. Julan lunged, impaling the bandit clean through the neck. With blood dribbling from his gurgling mouth, the bandit crumpled to his knees, and after a hard kick to the chest from Julan, he dropped to the ground and fell still.

With his leg throbbing, Fahjoth struggled to get his feet, but Julan was quick to approach and offer a hand which he gladly accepted. But before he could say his thanks, footsteps at the end of the cavern alerted them to the arrival of two more Dunmer.

One of them, donning thick chitin armour, stared at the scene in shock before his angular features twisted with rage.

“You’ll regret killing my people, you n’wah!” he hissed, drawing a glimmering sword as he stepped closer. Behind him, the second Dunmer — donning the elegant robes of a mage — raised his hands as he prepared a blistering fiery spell. Julan prepared his own spell in retaliation, but before the mage could attack, a dark figure on the ground beneath the boardwalk suddenly lunged at his legs.

The mage howled as Ribyna plunged her dagger into his knee, and as he was rendered lame and unbalanced, she grabbed his robes and dragged him down to the ground with her. The head bandit — Daldur Sarys — snapped his head around in alarm, and Fahjoth took his opportunity.

He struck at Sarys with his sword, but Sarys faced him in time to block it with his own, the hilt vibrating in Fahjoth’s hand and the blades screeching as they clashed. As Fahjoth jumped back to avoid Sarys’ retaliation, Julan’s voice rang out from behind.

“Fahjoth, get down!”

Without hesitation, Fahjoth ducked.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as a crackling energy sailed overhead. He risked peering up in time to witness a bolt of electricity crashing down on Sarys. As the magic jolted through his body, he gave a choked gasp and stumbled back, and Fahjoth took his chance. He whacked at Sarys’ sword arm, and — as he drew a deep breath and steeled himself — slashed his blade across the bandit’s throat.

With a deep laceration in his neck now gushing blood, Sarys began to stagger on the spot. A weak glow illuminated his hand as he tried desperately to heal himself, but the damage had already been done. Unable to breathe, and with his own blood generously painting both himself and the wooden planks beneath his feet, Sarys could only remain standing for a few seconds more before his legs gave way beneath him and, like the rest of his comrades, he collapsed.

With the silence in the cavern now punctuated only by the sound of their ragged panting, Fahjoth turned to face Julan, taking deep breaths in an attempt to force his heart rate back to normal. The pain in his leg now pulsed much more noticeably than before.

“I think that’s all of them,” he said, limping to meet Julan and weakly wiggling his sword to shake off the blood. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Julan answered. “What about you? Is your leg okay? That fall looked nasty.”

“It will be,” Fahjoth replied, but before he could continue, a noise behind them caused them both to whirl around in alarm. Fahjoth’s heart hammered again, but it calmed as soon as he realised it was just Ribyna, wearily clambering back up onto the boardwalk from the muddy cave floor beneath, splattered from head to foot with a grim combination of muck and blood. Fahjoth started towards her and offered a hand to help her up — which she ignored entirely.

“Beebs! Are you alright—“

“No thanks to you.”

Fahjoth paused. “What d’you mean?“ She had since got to her feet, but as Fahjoth tried to reach out to her again, he faltered as she smacked his hand away. “Ribyna, what’s the matter?”

Ribyna didn’t answer. Instead she gave a derisive scoff, turning away from Fahjoth and making a half-hearted attempt to clean the grime off her leathers. Confusion gave way to a prickling anger as Fahjoth’s blood began to boil.

Before he could stop himself, he had snapped back.

“What exactly is your problem? I mean if it wasn’t for you fighting with Julan, none of this would have happened in the first place! What the hell were you thinking?!”

Ribyna let out a humourless laugh. “Oh yeah, that’s right! Go on, blame me instead of your new best mate who can do no wrong!”

“What?” Fahjoth’s mouth dropped open as he stumbled over his words. “W— where’s this coming from?”

“As if you need to ask! It’s like he’s the only one who matters now!”

From beside him, Fahjoth noticed Julan bristle and take a breath as he prepared his retort. Fahjoth held up a hand and shot him a pleading glance — a silent request to let him handle this situation, which Julan thankfully obliged.

“Beebs, you’re being ridiculous—”

“Am I, though?! Ever since he joined us, you’ve been siding with him and defending him all the time!”

Fahjoth frowned, his frustration from Ribyna’s behaviour over the past few days finally bubbling over and spilling out. “Because you’ve been treating him like shit!”

“He treated us like shit, Fahjoth! Or have you forgotten already?!”

“I apologised for that,” Julan interjected with a frown.

Glancing between Julan and Ribyna, Fahjoth nodded. “He did apologise for that, Beebs.”

Ribyna cackled again, a rough, unpleasant sound devoid of any mirth. “There, you’re doing it again! Well, d’you know what, I’m done. I’m fed up of you picking this random guar-fucker over your own fucking family.”

Fahjoth stepped back, Ribyna’s words hitting him like a punch to the face as a wave of unease washed over him. “But... I’m not—”

“Save it!”

She turned away, and Fahjoth’s stomach churned as he noticed an unmistakable dark red stain oozing from her hairline, just before her temple.

“Ribyna? Did you— are you hurt?”

He stepped closer again and cautiously touched her shoulder, but another hard strike from Ribyna sent him recoiling instantly.

“Ribyna—!”

“Fuck you both. See you ‘round.”

Ignoring Fahjoth’s cries, Ribyna wheeled around and stormed off with a distinct unsteadiness in her steps. His gut twisting and a cold sweat settling on his skin, Fahjoth continued to shout after his twin long after her angry footsteps had receded into silence.

“Ribyna!”

With nothing answering him but the gentle dripping of water from the cave roof, Fahjoth dropped his head into his hand and sighed. Things had been tense with Ribyna lately, but he hadn’t anticipated such a blow-out. He hadn’t realised she still held such a grudge for Julan’s attitude on their first encounter. Why couldn’t she have just talked to him about this? He was used to her stubborn reticence, but it was still incredibly frustrating.

“I’m sorry.”

Fahjoth turned around. Julan was standing there, looking almost as wretched as Fahjoth felt.

“What are you apologising for, mate?”

Julan wrung his hands, dropping his gaze. “I just… I feel like this is all my fault.”

“Hey, don’t be daft!” Fahjoth took a few hasty steps forward until he was close enough to rest his hands on Julan’s shoulders. “It’s not your fault. Ribyna is just…” He grimaced, shrugging as he wondered how best to explain. “She isn’t the easiest person in the world to get on with. She doesn’t really… make friends very easily.”

“But my point still stands!” Julan protested. “Me being here is just causing you problems. You wouldn’t be fighting with your twin if it wasn’t for me.”

Fahjoth scoffed. “I wouldn’t be so sure. We always squabble over… pretty much everything. But— look…” He gave Julan’s shoulders a squeeze and crouched the few inches necessary until they were at eye-level with each other, trying to convey his sincerity with a small smile. “I promised I’d help you train, and I’m sticking to that. Whether that’s with or without Ribyna. Okay?”

Julan managed a weak smile in return. “Okay.”

“Anyway, you’re not just causing me problems!” Fahjoth continued. “Look at what we did today! I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you, mate.”

“You probably would have. But thanks.” Julan’s smile gradually became a grin. “We do make a pretty good team, don’t we?”

Fahjoth’s smile widened. “Damn right we do!” Without thinking, he pulled Julan into an enthusiastic one-armed hug — only to panic as he realised what he’d done. Had he crossed a line? He didn’t know what Julan’s stance on physical contact was; what if he was offended?

“Sorry, I just—” he began babbling as he backed off, but Julan simply laughed and patted Fahjoth on the shoulder in return.

“It’s fine,” he said. “So… shall we get going? I could kill for a mazte right now!”

Fahjoth raised a brow, glancing around at the bloodied heaps of bodies dotted around the cave. “I think we already did, mate.” He flashed Julan another grin and set off, limping out of the cave while frequently looking back to ensure that Julan was following. “I think we’ve more than earned that mazte.”

“Hah, you’re right.” He glanced down at Fahjoth’s leg, noticing his awkward gait. “Are you sure your leg’s alright?”

“Oh, it’ll be fine, don’t worry,” Fahjoth replied, waving Julan’s concern aside with an airy flick of his wrist. “It’s just a bit bruised, I think.”

“As long as you’re sure. You know, that was an impressive tackle.” Julan paused, a thoughtful look on his face as he trotted along beside Fahjoth. “I heard you letting one of them go.”

Fahjoth faltered, his grin slipping away to a wry smile. “Yeah… he was yielding. I couldn’t bring myself to kill someone after they’d surrendered.”

“You’ve got better morals than half of Morrowind then. At least.” For a moment, Fahjoth wasn’t sure whether that was meant to be taken as a compliment or an insult, but Julan continued, “Oh, I’m not criticising! I think it’s nice. Just… be careful, okay? I’d hate to see anything happen to you.”

A curious feeling settled in Fahjoth’s stomach. He glanced at Julan, the earnesty on his face clear to see even in the low light of the nearby torch flames, and instantly Fahjoth felt a rush of gratitude and affection for his new friend. The idea that another person cared that much about him warmed him from the inside out, even as they stepped out into the chilly night air.

“Cheers, mate,” he said, clapping Julan on the shoulder as another smile lifted his cheeks. “Let’s go tell Oran the good news, then go get those drinks.”

Julan grinned back, lightly bumping Fahjoth’s shoulder with his own.

“Sounds good to me.”

#oc: fahjoth #oc: ribyna #julan kaushibael #Morrowind #dunmer #nerevarine #dunmer oc #elder scrolls #elder scrolls fanfic #tes iii: morrowind

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warmbeebosoftbeebo · 6 years ago

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*TONGUE omg what the fuck (no hate on younger b)

hahaha. i just posted some :D bachelor era beebs. i also have a tag of one’s i posted so far under lips n tongue masterpost (there’s also the tongue tag)

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yazzydream · 8 years ago

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ANIMATION DOCUMENTARIES - a Compilation (1/2)

I’ve been meaning to remake my masterpost on animation documentaries for a while. (Especially since amazon no longer allows us to edit our older listmanias.) I love watching stuff like this, so I figure others would as well! I direct linked as many titles as I could to streams, free or otherwise. Feel free to add to this! (Also, quick prelude since you’re gonna hear it a lot: Any time a Disney documentary says Snow White was the first ever animated feature film is a dirty filthy lie.)

Animation Industry

Anime: Drawing a Revolution (2007)

Between Frames: The Art of Brazilian Animation (2013; website)

The CalArts Story (1964)

[NHK Close-up Gendai] No.3620 逆襲なるか　日本アニメ　～海外輸出・新戦略の行方～ (”The Counterattack of Japanese Anime ~Overseas Export - New Strategy~”) (2015; website)

[NHK Close-up Gendai] No.3171 アニメを旅する若者たち　“聖地巡礼”の舞台裏 (”Young People Traveling for Anime ‘Pilgrimage to the Sacred Place’”) (2012; website)

[NHK Close-up Gendai Plus] ２兆円↑アニメ産業　加速する“ブラック労働” (”2 Trillion Yen ↑ Accelerating Animation Industry ‘Black Labor’”) (2017; website; NHK on how shitty overworked animator wages are.)

Computer Dreams (1988; this is more a showcase of early cgi than a documentary, but it’s interesting to see anyway.)

Creature Designers - The Frankenstein Complex (2016; DVD)

Drawn for Glory: Animation's Triumph at the Oscars (2008; DVD)

Forging the Frame: The Roots of Animation, 1900-1920 (2007; DVD)

Forging the Frame: The Roots of Animation, 1921-1930

Hollywood’s Greatest Trick (2016; website; about the terrible VFX business model.)

I Know That Voice (2013; DVD, website)

Imagine Series 2 Episode 5, “From Pencils to Pixels” (2003; BBC One)

Magia Russica (2004; website; on Soviet Russian animation)

New-generation animators (2016; website)

Weightless Life - Dialogue With Disney (2006; on Russian animation)

Studios

A Grand Night In: The Story of Aardman (2015)

Fleischer Studios -

The Evolution of Animation: The History of the Fleischer Studios (2007; DVD)

First Flight: The Fleischer Superman Series (2009; DVD)

Max Fleischer and the New York Style (2007)

Out of the Inkwell: The Fleischer Story (2008)

Hanna-Barbera’s 50th: A Yabba Dabba Doo Celebration (1989)

Life After Pi (2014; website; about the collapse of VFX studio Rhythm & Hues.)

Industrial Light & Magic: Creating the impossible (2010)

The Magic of Filmation

Pixar -

Pixar: 25 Magic Moments (2011; by BBC Three)

The Pixar Story (2007, DVD; website)

Walt Disney Studios

Dream On Silly Dreamer (2005; DVD)

From Fantasia to Fantasyland (1978)

The Illusion of Life (1981)

Walt Disney Treasures - Behind the Scenes at the Walt Disney Studio (DVD; A collection of old behind-the-scenes docs and telecasts.)

Walt Disney Treasures - Your Host, Walt Disney (DVD; collection of Walt Disney Presents/The Wonderful World of Color)

Waking Sleeping Beauty (2009; DVD; website)

Warner Bros. -

[Camera Three] The Boys Termite Terrace (1975; DVD)

Irreverent Imagination: The Golden Age of the Looney Tunes (2003; DVD)

Unsung Maestros: A Directors Tribute (2007; DVD)

Anime Studios

Behind The Scenes! Kyoto Animation Making of Kanon

Ghibli: The Miyazaki Temple (2005)

Inside Toei Animation (2008)

Kingdom of Dreams & Madness (2013; DVD; on Studio Ghibli.)

The Story Behind Banjo (2009; DVD; on creating Don Bluth Productions.)

Animators/Artists/Voice Actors Included a few comic artists who’s works are also widely known through animation.

Al Hirschfeld - The Line King: The Al Hirschfeld Story (1996; DVD; website)

Ami Ankilewitz - 39 Pounds of Love (2005; DVD)

Art Babbit - Animating Art (1988)

Art Chokey - Gumby Dharma (2006)

Bill Pylmpton - Adventures in Plymptoons! (2011; DVD)

Blinky Bill - Blinky and Me (2011; DVD; website)

Bob Clampett - The Man from Wackyland: The Art of Bob Clampett (2004; DVD)

Bob Godfrey - The Craftsmen - Bob Godfrey (1971)

Bruce Bickford - Monster Road (2004; DVD; website)

Charles Schulz -

A Boy Named Charlie Brown (1963; DVD)

[Biography] Charles Schulz: A Charlie Brown Life

Good Grief, Charlie Brown: A Tribute to Charles Schulz (2000)

[American Masters] Good Ol’ Charles Schulz (2007; website)

Chuck Jones -

Chuck Amuck: The Movie (1991; DVD)

Chuck Jones: Extremes and In-Betweens - A Life in Animation (2000; DVD)

Chuck Jones: Memories of Childhood (2009)

Heart and Soul: The Timeless Art of Chuck Jones (2007; DVD)

Eyvind Earle - My Life Eyvind Earle (DVD; autobiographical doc.)

Floyd Norman - Floyd Norman: An Animated Life (2016; website)

Frank Tashlin - Tish Tash: The Animated World of Frank Tashlin (2005; DVD)

Frank Thomas & Ollie Johnston - Frank and Ollie (1995; DVD)

Frank Thomas - Growing Up with Nine Old Men (2013; DVD)

Friz Freleng -

Freleng: Frame by Frame (1994; DVD)

Friz on Film (2006; DVD)

Fujiko Fujio - [NHK The Professionals] Episode 214, “プロフェッショナルザ・レジェンド僕は、のび太そのものだった” (”The Legend I Was Nobita Itself”) (2013)

Genndy Tartakovsky - Genndy's Scrapbook: The Story of Genndy Tartakovsky (2005; DVD)

George Pal - Fantasy Film Worlds of George Pal (1985; DVD)

Gerry & Sylvia Anderson - Filmed in Supermarionation (2014; DVD; website)

Hayao Miyazaki -

Journey of the Heart (1998)

[NHK Documentary] Owaranai Hito: Miyazaki Hayao (“Never-Ending Man: Hayao Miyazaki”) (EN) (2016; website)

[NHK The Professionals] Special, “「風立ちぬ」1000日の記録” (“Windless” A Record of 1000 Days) (2013)

[NHK The Professionals] Special, “引退宣言知られざる物語” (Retirement Announcement Unknown Story) (2013)

John Lasseter - A Day In The Life of John Lasseter (2011)

LeSean Thomas - Seoul Sessions (2012)

Lotte Reiniger -

John Isaacs The Art of Lotte Reiniger (1970)

Lotte Reiniger: Homage to the Inventor of the Silhouette Film (1999)

Lou Scheimer - Animation Maverick: The Lou Scheimer Story (2008)

Mary Blair - The Art of Mary Blair (2005)

Mel Blanc - Mel Blanc: The Man of a Thousand Voices (2008; DVD)

Naoki Urasawa - [NHK The Professionals] Episode 38, “心のままに、荒野を行け” (Go To the Wilderness With Your Heart) (2007)

Norman McLean - McLaren’s Negatives (2006)

Osamu Tezuka -

The Art of Osamu Tezuka: God of Manga (2009; DVD)

Osamu Tezuka Documentary: The Godfather Of Manga

Pablo Ferro - Pablo (2012; DVD)

Peter Ellenshaw - Ellenshaw Under Glass

Quirino Cristiani - The Mystery of the First Animated Movies (2007; website)

Ralph Bakshi -

Forging Through the Darkness (2001; DVD)

Wizards: Ralph Bakshi - The Wizard of Animation (2004)

Ray Harryhausen -

The Harryhausen Chronicles (1998; DVD)

Ray Harryhausen: Special Effects Titan (2011; DVD)

Richard Williams -

Richard WIlliams & The Thief Who Never Gave Up (1982)

I Drew Roger Rabbit (1988)

Persistence of Vision (2012; DVD; website)

Robert McKimson - Drawn to Life: The Art of Robert McKimson (2007; DVD)

Ryan Larkin - Ryan (2004; DVD)

Scott T. Petersen - Scott Petersen: Drawn To Animate (2013)

Takehiko Inoue - [NHK The Professionals] Episode 126, “ 闘いの螺旋、いまだ終わらず” (The Battle Spiral, It Has Not Ended Yet) (2009)

Takashi Yanase -

[NHK Close-up Gendai] No.3423 アンパンマンに託した夢　～人間・やなせたかし～ (”The Dream I Entrusted to Anpanman ~Human Takashi Yanase~) (2013; website)

[NHK 知るを楽しむ] 人生の歩き方” - 「正義の味方はカッコ悪い！」やなせたかし (”How to Walk Life” - “The Ally of Justice is Uncool!” Takashi Yanase)

Tex Avery -

Tex Avery, the King of Cartoons (1988)

King Size Comedy: Tex Avery and the Looney Toons Revolution (2012)

Toshio Suzuki - [NHK The Professionals] Episode 10, 自分は信じない人を信じる (”I Trust People Who Do Not Trust Me”) (2006)

Ub Iwerks - The Hand Behind The Mouse: The Ub Iwerks Story (1999; DVD)

Tyrus Wong - Tyrus Wong, Brushstrokes in Hollywood (website)

Walt Disney -

[American Experience] Walt Disney (2015; DVD; website; take with a pinch of salt and maybe check out this post.)

Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow: The Futurism of Walt Disney (2016)

Secret Lives Walt Disney (1995; It’s suuper fucked up, but it’s interesting to compare other docs on Walt.)

Walt & El Grupo (2008; DVD; website)

Walt - The Man Behind the Myth (2011; DVD)

Walt Disney (2016; by BBC Two)

Winsor McCay - Remembering Winsor McCay (1974; DVD)

Yoji Kuri - Here We Go with Yoji Kuri! (2008)

Disney Family Album (1984-1986) Doc series on various Disney animators, actors, etc.

No. 1 Clarence "Ducky" Nash

No. 2 Ward Kimball

No. 3 Sherman Brothers

No. 4 Jim Macdonald

No. 5 Milt Kahl

No. 6 Ken Anderson

No. 7 Disneyland Designers

No. 8 Eric Larson

No. 9 Peter and Harrison Ellenshaw

No. 10 Woolie Reitherman

No. 11 Frank Thomas

No. 12 Voice Actors

No. 13 WED Imagineers

No. 14 Golden Horseshoe Revue

No. 15 Ollie Johnston

No. 16 Annette Funicello

No. 17 Marc Davis

No. 18 The Milottes and the Beebes

No. 19 Fess Parker/Buddy Ebsen

No. 20 The Storymen

JUMP Ryu! (ジャンプ流！) (2016; website) A DVD/magazine series that interviews Shonen Jump mangakas and shows their drawing process.

Vol. 1 Akira Toriyama (DVD; Dragon Ball)

Vol. 2 Masashi Kishimoto (DVD; Naruto)

Vol. 3. Eiichiro Oda (DVD; One Piece)

Vol. 4 Tite Kubo (DVD; Bleach)

Vol. 5 Tadatoshi Fujimaki (DVD; Kuroko no Basuke)

Vol. 6 Yusei Matsui (DVD; Assassination Classroom)

Vol. 7 Kōhei Horikoshi (DVD; My Hero Academia)

Vol. 8 Kazuki Takahashi (DVD; Yu-Gi-Oh!)

Vol. 9 Haruichi Furudate (DVD; Haikyu!!)

Vol. 10 Shun Saeki (DVD; Shokugeki no Soma)

Vol. 11 Kentaro Yabuki (DVD; Black Cat, To Love-Ru)

Vol. 12 Nobuhiro Watsuki (Rurouni Kenshin)

Vol. 13 Naoshi Komi (DVD; Nisekoi)

Vol. 14 Masanori Morita (DVD; Rokudenashi Blues)

Vol. 15 Yusuke Murata (DVD; aka ONE artist of One-Punch Man)

Vol. 16 Shimabukuro Years (Toriko)

Vol. 17 Masakazu Katsura (DVD; Video Girl Ai)

Vol. 18 Osamu Akimoto (Kochikame)

Vol. 19 Takeshi Obata (DVD; Death Note)

Vol. 20 Kyosuke Usuta (DVD; Pyu to Fuku! Jaguar)

Vol. 21 Yoshihiro Togashi (Hunter X Hunter)

Vol. 22 Hiroyuki Asada (DVD; Tegami Bachi)

Vol. 23 Sorachi Hideaki (Gintama)

Vol. 24 Kazue Kato (Ao no Exorcist)

Vol. 25 Hirohiko Araki (Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure)

Musicians

Raymond Scott - Deconstructing Dad (2010; DVD; website)

Robert & Richard Sherman - The Boys: The Sherman Brothers’ Story (2009; DVD; website)

Saori Yuki - [NHK Close-up Gendai] No.3162 世界を魅了する日本の歌謡曲　～由紀さおり　ヒットの秘密～ (”Popular Japanese Songs That Fascinate the World ~Saori Yuki’s Hit Secret~”) (2012; website)

Treg Brown - Crash! Bang! Boom!: The Wild Sounds of Treg Brown (2004; DVD)

(Continue to Part 2)

#animation #documentaries #masterpost #disney #looney tunes #fleischer studios #anime #animation documentaries #long post #let's try to be more bloggy shall we #animation docs

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honeybeees · 8 years ago

Note

ahh what website are u using to livestream sherlock / can you link me to that masterpost? thank

yeah no problem! i usually use the bbc iplayer with the beebs chrome extension turned on and then i have one of the livestreams pulled up (whichever one looks like it’s working fastest in the 30 min before the episode starts). i get the links for the streams from this post

hope that helps!

#anonymous #asks #Anonymous

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lake-arrius-caverns · 4 years ago

Text

Nerevarine Rising

Chapter 12: Two’s Company

summary As the party grows from two to three, Fahjoth tries his best to smooth over tensions.

content warnings strong warning for nausea/emetophobia about halfway down

read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍

:: First :: || << Previous << || >> Next >> || :: Masterpost ::

————————————————————————

The shock reverberated up Fahjoth’s shins as his feet found solid ground with a jolt. Gasping, he staggered back, desperately trying to regain his balance. Once his brain caught up with the messages his eyes were receiving, he realised that the three of them were back in Ald’ruhn; a nearby guard stared at them from behind his impassive helm, but otherwise he didn’t seem to care too much for three Dunmer suddenly materialising out of thin air.

While Fahjoth remained on his feet, Ribyna was not so lucky, and she groaned from her landing position face-down on the dusty ground. “Ugh… what the fuck was that?!” she spat, rubbing smudges of dirt from her face as she dragged herself upright again.

“Almsivi Intervention,” Julan answered, discomfort clear on his face. “It teleports you to the nearest Tribunal temple.” There was a pause before he continued, “I’m sorry, I— I don’t know what happened back there… You must think I’m such a coward. I swear I’m not. I swear I am a warrior, and I’ve never run from a fight, nor do I fear death.”

“Look, don’t be daft,” Fahjoth replied, raising his voice to speak over Ribyna’s loud scoffing as he tried to reassure Julan. “We don’t think you’re a coward—”

“Speak for yourself...” Ribyna muttered, but Fahjoth ignored her to reassure Julan.

“I wasn’t exactly having a good time up there either,” he continued, trying to inject a bit of humour into the situation. Judging by Julan’s expression, it hadn’t worked.

“I’m not afraid of Red Mountain, or any of its monsters,” Julan said. “It’s... something else. It’s to do with these… weird dreams I’ve been having.”

Fahjoth’s curiosity was piqued as he thought back to his own night terrors. He hadn’t experienced them for a while, and for that he was thankful, but recollections of fiery landscapes and dark figures with blazing red eyes still lingered in the back of his mind. “Oh yeah?”

Julan took a deep breath. “I dream that I’m climbing Red Mountain. It’s just like what we saw — it’s dark, the air is filled with ash that gets into my eyes and mouth, but the further I go up, the harder it is to keep going. And then there’s all these voices, whispering things to me.”

“What sort of things?”

“That’s the thing, I don’t even know. I can’t understand what they’re saying, it’s too hard to make out. But it sounds, uh… well, not good, y’know?” Julan looked between Fahjoth and Ribyna apprehensively. “You’ve heard of Dagoth Ur, right? I mean, I’m guessing you have, but...”

Their silence said more than enough; Ribyna’s face looked as blank as Fahjoth’s brain felt, and Julan was visibly stunned.

“Oh come on, even outlanders must know about him! Dagoth Ur? The devil who lives beneath Red Mountain?”

“Sorry, mate.” Fahjoth shrugged. “I don’t—” Then he stopped, as a thought occurred to him. “Wait, does he have anything to do with the Sixth House Cult?”

“Yeah…” Julan frowned, and Fahjoth began to feel as if he’d done something wrong. “What do you know about the Sixth House Cult?”

“Honestly, not much.” At least that was truthful. There was no point bringing up Cosades and his work, as Fahjoth knew very little about it himself. “I just heard there’s been attacks from sleeper agents. I saw one of them myself.” He couldn’t suppress a shudder at the memory, remembering the vacant expression on the Dunmer’s face and his iron grip as hot as ashes on his wrist. “He said something like… Dagoth Ur is risen, something something Sixth House glory… I don’t know.”

Even Ribyna looked surprised by Fahjoth’s anecdote, while Julan’s tone became one of understanding instead. “Ah, I see. Yeah. Dagoth Ur is a powerful figure in our history and legends. Supposedly, he causes people to go insane by sending them dreams.”

Ribyna raised a brow at that. “What, so you reckon you’re going insane?”

“What— no!” Julan replied defensively. “I am not insane and I’m not planning to be, either! Lots of people dream about him. It’s nothing.”

For a moment, Fahjoth wondered if it was worth bringing up his own dreams. But if what Julan said was right, then perhaps it was more common than he had thought. He didn’t feel like he was going insane, and as long as it stayed that way, then he surely ought to be alright.

On realising that he had tuned out of the conversation, Fahjoth jolted and made an effort to concentrate again.

“Then why are you so bothered by them that you can’t even climb a mountain?” Ribyna was saying.

“I’m not! I mean—” Julan blew out, his frustration evident. “Look, I know it doesn’t make any sense, okay? I just need time. Anyway…” He looked between the twins, vying for a change of subject. “Never mind that. How about getting on with some training? I could do with taking my mind off things.”

“Yeah, alright. Good idea,” Fahjoth agreed. He gestured between himself and Ribyna. “Me and Beebs are both used to working with short blades and light armour.” Then he gave a dry laugh. “I don’t think either of us will be able to help with your magic, though. We can’t cast spells for shit.”

“Hah! That’s alright.” Julan grinned. “I don’t need any help with archery, either, I’ve been practising since I was small. I prefer fighting with blades anyway, so I’m up for that.”

“Right!”

Fahjoth turned to face Ribyna, alarmed by the sight of her drawing her dagger.

“Sparring match, then? Let’s see how we do,” she suggested. Fahjoth was nervous; Ribyna’s attitude so far hadn’t sat well with him at all, and neither was the look on her face as she eyed Julan. Such a sudden turnaround, going from being openly hostile to Julan to wanting to spar with him, didn’t exactly bode well.

Whether Julan himself shared Fahjoth’s apprehension wasn’t apparent. On the contrary, he drew his own shortsword and nodded.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

“Are you sure?” Fahjoth asked. “With real weapons? Isn’t that a bit dangerous?”

“It’ll be fine, Fahji,” Ribyna said dismissively.

“Don’t worry, we won’t go too hard,” Julan added. Fahjoth wasn’t at all optimistic about that, but he held his tongue and decided to lean against a nearby wall to observe.

Ribyna brandished her dagger and stalked a circle around Julan, who stood ready with his chitin sword. Without warning she lunged, hard and fast. Julan brought his sword up to deflect the blow, the blades screeching on impact. A retaliation from Julan, deliberately slow and cautious, forced Ribyna back and kept her at arm’s length for the time being. Overall, it seemed to be going well, and Fahjoth began to relax.

That was until one particularly close call from the tip of Julan’s blade threw Ribyna off her rhythm. Although the strike hit the tough leather of her armour, the force and angle still caused the dagger to get flung from her grip. With a grin, Julan pointed his sword up to her chest, puffing from the brief yet intense exercise.

“Got you! Maybe don’t drop your weapon next time.”

Ribyna only scowled in response. Then with a flash of steel, she pivoted herself against Julan’s chest, a second dagger poised against his throat.

“Maybe make sure your opponent is actually unarmed next time.”

There was a moment of stiff silence; Ribyna glared at Julan, her face less than an inch from his own, while Julan stared back defiantly. Then the tension broke, and she backed up and resumed pacing, looking for the next opportunity to strike.

The remainder of the sparring session continued much in the same manner, with Ribyna and Julan flitting around each other in a vicious dance, both trying to get the upper hand over the other. A short while and a few close calls later and they agreed to call it a day, having been reasonably evenly matched. It seemed that training together would be as beneficial for Fahjoth and Ribyna as it would be for Julan himself.

“How about a drink?” Fahjoth suggested to his somewhat bruised companions. “I think we could all do with chilling out for a bit.”

“Fine by me,” Ribyna said, while Julan looked awkward.

“Oh, I… don’t think I have enough to—” Julan started, but he stopped as Fahjoth waved a hand genially.

“Don’t worry about it,” he chirped, offering Julan a friendly smile. “I’ll get them. I owe Ribyna a round, anyway.”

Julan’s unease melted away and was replaced with a grin, which Fahjoth found quite contagious. He purposefully ignored Ribyna’s dull glare in his periphery, focusing instead on Julan.

“Well, I wouldn’t say no to a mazte, if you’re offering.”

“Sorted!” Fahjoth declared, ambling further into Ald’ruhn while Ribyna and Julan limped along with him. He was subjected to the uncomfortable feeling of someone staring at him, and he didn’t need to look around to know that it was coming from Ribyna.

Once they reached the cool shade of the Ald Skar Inn, Fahjoth suggested that Julan find them a table while he went to retrieve the drinks, to which he happily obliged. However, Fahjoth was not all surprised when Ribyna offered to help him carry them over, despite knowing full well that he could handle them himself, and prepared himself for the ear bashing he knew was imminent.

“He’s taking the piss,” Ribyna hissed, once they were at the bar and out of earshot of Julan. “You know what’s gonna happen, don’t you?”

Fahjoth heaved a sigh as he leaned against the bar, deciding to just let her rant. “Go on then, enlighten me.”

“He’s gonna mooch off you every chance he gets! He’s always gonna be all, ‘oh no, I don’t have any money’, and then you’ll have to pay for every-bloody-thing.”

“I don’t mind. It’s not like I don’t have the gold for a few drinks here and there. I’d do the same for any friend!”

Ribyna’s mouth fell open. “Friend?” she spat, outraged. “You barely even know the bastard! Honestly Fahjoth, you see a pretty boy and I swear your whole fucking brain just shuts down!”

Trying to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks, Fahjoth was quick to see a lifeline and he clung to it like a drowning man. “Oh, so you think he’s pretty, do you?”

This time, it was Ribyna whose cheeks flushed a dull red. “I— no, I never— don’t put words in my mouth!” she retorted, fuming. “You know exactly what I’m saying, and you know I’m right!”

“Well, just do me a favour and keep it to yourself if you can,” Fahjoth requested flatly. “I don’t want Julan to feel uncomfortable. More than he already is...”

Ribyna looked as though she was going to continue to argue, but a moment of respite came when the drinks arrived. Fahjoth hastily took them over to the table before Ribyna could say another word, leaving her to traipse after him clutching her own. Once he placed the drinks down on the table, Julan gratefully took his, shuffling his stool along to make plenty of room for the twins to join him.

“So, whereabouts do you two live?” he asked. “It’s not here in Ald’ruhn, is it?”

“Nah, we’re staying in Balmora.”

“Probably a good thing. It’s like the dusty armpit of Vvardenfell here. And so Redoran, it’s illegal to even joke about it!” Julan swigged his mazte, looking to Fahjoth curiously. “What’s Balmora like?”

“Bit bigger than Ald’ruhn. And less dusty. You’ll see it for yourself soon!” Fahjoth paused. “Well, that’s if you still want to come with us. I’ve got to go check in with my boss soon.”

“Course I do. As long as we can still continue to train, then I don’t mind where we go.”

Fahjoth grinned. “Don’t worry about that. If I’m not around, you’ll be able to spar with Ribyna again!”

“Oh yeah, ‘cause it’s not like I’ve got a life outside you or anything,” Ribyna grumbled, staring at Julan with heavy mistrust — and even dislike. Julan seemed to notice as well, for his smile slipped somewhat and an awkward silence fell over the table.

“Anyway…” Julan attempted a wary change of subject. “What is it that you do for a living? Apart from rescuing people from clannfears, of course.”

“To be honest, mate…” Fahjoth shrugged. “I don’t really know. I know that sounds daft, but mostly I just run errands. Gather information. Sometimes nearly get myself killed in Dwemer ruins or haunted tombs. That sort of thing.”

“Sounds… interesting.”

Both he and Julan both then turned to Ribyna, but she remained silent, glowering back at them while she sipped her drink. Fahjoth’s stomach sank. With Ribyna’s stubborn refusal to socialise, the relatively upbeat mood had been well and truly quashed.

A heavy weight began to settle in Fahjoth's chest. Though he was looking forward to working with Julan, the excitement was spoiled by Ribyna's behaviour and incessant hostility towards him. He knew Ribyna was prickly at the best of times, but he hadn't anticipated this much resistance to gaining a new companion. If Julan was going to stay with them for the foreseeable, Fahjoth dreaded the idea of trying to persuade her to play nice. How much more grief were they going to get from her?

But more importantly, how far did Julan's tolerance extend? How long would he put up with her animosity and foul mood before deciding that he'd had enough?

——————————————

“I’ve been meaning to ask. What’s up with your hair?”

Blinking, Fahjoth slowly turned to face Julan, trying to concentrate over the rough jerking of the silt strider’s teetering steps and the shrill grinding of its chitinous joints ringing in his ears. He wasn’t normally prone to motion sickness, but being so high above ground level coupled with the vigorous swaying of his seat was not a good combination, and Fahjoth had spent much of the journey from Ald’ruhn to Balmora trying to hold down the urge to vomit. After spending another day in and around Ald’ruhn for training and shopping, Fahjoth could no longer put off returning to Balmora and the silt strider was the fastest way to get there. Even if it did make him want to throw up.

His first time riding one, and he dearly wished for it to be his last.

Julan perhaps mistook his silence for offence, for he held up a hand apologetically. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“Eh? No, it’s fine. Sorry for being quiet, I’m just not feeling great,” Fahjoth explained, squinting as the low sun on the horizon shone into his eyes. At least the weather had been good for their trip. “Well, it used to be totally black. But a few years ago, it started to go white in the front here.” He held up a strand by means of demonstration. “I dunno why.”

“That really is weird.”

“I still reckon it was stress,” Ribyna added, looking over her shoulder with a smirk. With her arm hanging loosely over the silt strider’s side, she seemed to be having no issues with the bumpy ride. “Obviously not everyone is cut out for life in prison.”

Julan did a double-take, looking from Ribyna to Fahjoth with shock. “You’ve been arrested?”

Fahjoth turned to Ribyna, scowling. Ribyna simply smiled back at him with false pleasantry and turned away to gaze at their surroundings as the silt strider tottered along. With a sigh, he turned back to Julan, feeling somehow even more queasy at the thought of telling the truth and wondering how Julan would take it.

Damn Ribyna and her big mouth!

“Yeah. Me and Ribyna both came here on a prison ship,” Fahjoth admitted. Instantly, Julan looked leery.

“You’re both convicts? You’re not on the run, are you?”

“No! No, nothing like that. We were released.”

“Released? On Vvardenfell?” Julan scoffed. “That’s just typical of the Empire. As if they haven’t done us enough damage, now they’re offloading their unwanted criminals onto us!”

Admittedly, that comment stung. But before Fahjoth could answer, Ribyna had whipped around in her seat again, looking none too pleased with Julan’s remark herself.

“Yeah, that’s no good, is it? It’s not like those unwanted criminals saved your sorry arse from getting eaten alive by clannfears or anything!”

Julan blanched, biting his lip as he realised what he had said. “Oh— gods, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it personally. Look, I didn’t mean— well…” As he took a deep breath, Fahjoth noted his hesitation to continue. “You do seem like a good person… people. Good people. Um... were you... y’know... guilty? Of... whatever it was you did to get arrested.”

Fahjoth, for a moment, was silent. He risked a glance over at Ribyna, feeling his stomach clench when he saw that she had turned her back to them again. She said nothing, but Fahjoth could see the tension in her shoulders, and he knew his twin well enough to know that if he spoke the truth, it would hurt her. So he looked back to Julan, thinking about his words carefully.

“It’s... a bit of a long story, mate,” he said. “It was...” — he paused, waving his hands vaguely — “an accident.”

Julan stared at him with a mild frown, and Fahjoth felt himself break into a nervous sweat, not knowing what he was thinking. After a silence that was far too long for his liking, Julan spoke up at last.

“I believe you,” he said simply. “I’m not sure why, but I do. Like I said, you seem like a good person, and either way, I’m willing to judge you on your actions here and now, rather than in the past. Whatever they were.”

A wave of relief crashed over Fahjoth, but before he could respond, a particularly vigorous judder in the silt strider’s pace hit him like a punch to the gut. His stomach, already churning from nausea and anxiety, convulsed violently and a thick, wet sourness hit the back of his throat. Spinning around, he bolted up from his seat, leaning over the side and letting his head hang as he fought to swallow the sickness down again.

Through watering eyes Fahjoth watched as the ground went rushing by with the strider’s uneven pace, stopping and starting with every bumpy step, the leaves on the trees and bushes below blurring into one as his eyes struggled to focus. How far up was he, anyway? Twenty-five feet? Thirty?

His knuckles whitened as he clenched his trembling hands, his skin becoming hot and clammy and damp with sweat while his heart fluttered an uncomfortable half-rhythm in his chest. After seconds which lasted a lifetime, during which the contents of his stomach barely managed to settle, Fahjoth hauled himself back into the relative safety of his seat. It was still as choppy as ever, but at least he didn’t have to look at the ground this way. When he was able to focus again, he found Julan’s perturbed face fixed rapt upon his own.

“Fahjoth, are you alright?”

“Yeah Fahji, you look pale as fuck,” Ribyna added, finally turning her gaze back around, brows furrowed with concern. “Here you are, have some of this.”

She rummaged in her backpack and fished out a bottle of mazte, reaching back to offer it to Fahjoth. Fahjoth, however, shook his head with his mouth clamped tightly shut. If he opened it, there would likely be more than just words coming out.

Julan reached over and patted Fahjoth’s shoulder, albeit seeming reluctant to get too close. “It’s okay, I think we’re nearly there. Just... hold onto your lunch a bit longer, alright?”

The silt strider finally drawing to a halt could not have been a bigger relief. Except now that they had reached Balmora, Fahjoth faced the prospect of having to disembark from the silt strider and onto that precarious platform awaiting them. It had been bad enough ascending the narrow ramp to board the strider, how on Nirn was he going to get back down again?

Fortunately, Ribyna was on hand to lend him hers. Once she had clambered up out of the strider's hollowed-out carapace, she offered her hand to Fahjoth as he hesitantly followed suit. The simple boon of having something firm to grip onto while he stumbled out of the silt strider made all the difference, and without a word, Ribyna let Fahjoth continue holding her hand as they made their way down the slope, Fahjoth's pace hindered significantly by his shaking legs.

It took all his effort not to collapse to his knees the moment he stepped on solid ground at last. He doubled over, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths as he tried to encourage his stomach to settle, paying no heed to anything else going on around him. Once his nausea had subsided enough, he straightened back up again, preparing to face the mocking and jeering he predicted from his travelling companions.

However, there was nothing of the sort. Both Ribyna and Julan were watching him, their faces showing nothing but concern and sympathy.

“Not good with heights?” Julan asked, his tone one of pity.

“I— I dunno,” Fahjoth admitted. “I never realised... but I suppose, yeah. Obviously…”

“Either that or the turbulence,” Julan suggested. He fell silent, turning his gaze away to survey Balmora instead. "So, this is Balmora? It’s so grand." There was clear hesitation in his voice as he continued, “Um... tell me honestly, do I look like a complete savage?”

Fahjoth blinked. “What?”

Julan chewed his lip, his eyes darting from left to right apprehensively, as if searching for anyone who would look at him with disdain. “I know how people view Ashlanders. They think we’re violent, uncivilised barbarians who live in filth and poverty. They don’t even try to understand us, or our culture, or why we choose to live as we do. But we’re proud of our culture. We don’t need these tacky displays of wealth to be happy — we have more valuable things of our own.”

Before Fahjoth could even open his mouth, Ribyna cut across him. “Oh, don’t worry. Me and Fahjoth grew up stinking savages ourselves.”

Unsurprisingly Julan bristled, glaring at Ribyna and quietly seething. Sensing an altercation brewing, Fahjoth hastily spoke up, cringing over Ribyna’s lack of sensitivity. “What she means is that... well, we grew up on the streets,” he explained. “People saw us as nothing more than dirty, uncivilised thieves, as well.”

Thankfully, Julan seemed to calm down. “Well. Then maybe you’ll understand. My people are viewed with suspicion here in the cities. Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of my heritage, but I feel like I might be too conspicuous. I don’t want to go drawing any attention. What d’you think?”

Fahjoth shrugged. “I mean... you look fine to me, Julan. But if you like, we can look into getting you some new clothes.”

“At least get him something that smells less of guar,” Ribyna interjected, and once again, Fahjoth wanted to throttle her. Fortunately, Julan didn’t take offence.

“Maybe that would be a good idea, actually. But!” He jabbed Fahjoth in the chest with a finger. “If you make me look ridiculous, I swear I’ll never forgive you!”

Fahjoth held his hands up innocently, a grin curling at the corners of his lips. “I would never! I’ve got a good eye for fashion, me. Can’t you tell? Anyway…” He looked between Julan and Ribyna with an apologetic gaze. “Do you two wanna go get us a table in the South Wall Cornerclub? I need to go speak to Cosades, but I’ll join you straight after. He gets grumpy if I call on him too late in the day.”

Both Ribyna and Julan looked as apprehensive as Fahjoth felt to be sending off by themselves, but for the moment, it was unavoidable.

“Alright, well... don’t be long!” Ribyna said with a frown.

“I won’t!” Fahjoth called back as he began heading off, jogging away between the long shadows cast by the setting sun.

——————————————

Given the lateness of the hour, Fahjoth had assumed that Cosades would be home, perhaps settling down for the night with a few bottles of booze as he was wont to do. To his surprise, that was not the case. He lingered around for five minutes, just on the off-chance that Cosades would turn up, but he was reluctant to leave Julan and Ribyna alone for much longer. So he hurried on to the South Wall Cornerclub, hoping that the two had not bitten chunks out of each other in his absence.

However, he needn't have worried. When Fahjoth arrived and descended the steps into the bar, he spotted Ribyna and Julan sitting in complete stony silence at their usual corner table. Quite frankly, he had seen funerals looking more lively.

His arrival seemed to come as a relief, as Julan glanced up and waved Fahjoth over. Fahjoth obliged, joining them at the table with haste as he accepted the bottle that Ribyna pushed towards him. He was both unsurprised and disappointed to see that Julan had nothing.

“Sorry about this,” he murmured, casually pushing his own mazte over to Julan instead.

“It's fine,” Julan replied. “Not like either of you are obligated to buy me a drink.”

“Yeah, but it's polite, isn't it?” he said, directing this particular comment over to Ribyna, who curled her lip but said nothing on the matter.

“So did you see Cosades?” she asked instead. “What's he got lined up for you this time?”

“He wasn't in,” Fahjoth answered. “I'll see him tomorrow, I'm sure.” He paused, before sliding a handful of coins over the table towards Ribyna. “Could you go get me a mazte? I still feel a bit dodgy.”

“I already got you a mazte.”

“Ribyna, come on,” Fahjoth groaned, desperate for one night of peace. “Please.”

A moment of irate silence later and Ribyna got to her feet, striding off towards the bar with a distinctly sour demeanour.

Fahjoth sighed, burying his face behind his hands with dismay. “I'm so sorry about her,” he apologised, lowering his hands and resting his chin on his fist.

Julan shrugged. Fahjoth had to admire his fortitude. “Don't worry about it. It's hardly your fault. And I've dealt with much worse, believe me.” He peered over his shoulder, jerking his head in Ribyna's direction before turning back to Fahjoth. “I don't suppose you know what her problem is?”

“I wouldn't take it personally, mate,” Fahjoth said. “She's just... like that. To everyone, pretty much.” He ran his fingers through his hair, his mouth continuing to move as his frustrations began to seep out. “Has been for years, now. I knew she was... difficult, but I swear she's gotten so much worse since we got here. Like, I know you need gold to survive, that's obvious, but there's gotta be better ways of going about that than joining the Thieves Guild or the Morag bloody Tong—”

“Hold on,” Julan interrupted, cutting Fahjoth off mid-rant. “She's in the Morag Tong?!”

Fahjoth froze, realising his slip-up.

“Uh…” he began, but he was spared the need to respond by Ribyna's return.

“There's your bloody mazte,” she said grumpily, putting the drink down in front of Fahjoth with enough force that, for a moment, he thought the bottle might shatter. Before he could say anything, Julan was on the attack.

“So you're in the Morag Tong.” He glared at Ribyna, his grip on his own bottle hard. “The Morag Tong! You'd better have a damn good reason for this!”

Ribyna paused, slowly turning her gaze to Fahjoth as she sat down again. Fahjoth could merely offer her an apologetic grimace, and with a loud huff, she rolled her eyes and turned back to Julan.

“Come on then, I want to hear this!” Julan went on. “How can you possibly justify joining a murder cult?!”

“It's a job,” Ribyna said bluntly. “I get paid to do it. That's all. And keep your bloody voice down, will you?”

After glancing around to ensure that they hadn't drawn any undue attention already, Julan continued in a low hiss. “So that's all this is to you? Money? There's lots of ways to make gold that don't involve killing people you don't even know!”

“Listen, save the lectures. If someone's got to die, they're gonna get killed either way. At least this way, I can get paid for it!”

Julan sighed, eyeing Ribyna with distrust. “Yeah, well, that doesn't mean I have to like it. You're still walking up to a stranger and putting a dagger in their back. I don't know if I could live like that. And if you can, well…”

“Yeah? Well if you don't like it, you know where the door is,” Ribyna spat. “In fact, why don't you do us both a favour and piss off back to the Ashlands alread—”

“Alright, that's enough!” Fahjoth snapped, holding his hands up towards the bickering pair. “Both of you, pack it in! You're doing my head in. Let's all just calm down, okay? Thank you…”

Fahjoth hung his head after his outburst, going back to nursing his mazte in silence and deliberately avoiding both Ribyna and Julan's eyes. Already he felt guilty about losing his temper, but he was still feeling rough from the silt strider ride and the vicious squabble wasn’t helping. He was beginning to wonder if they would ever get along; the prospect of having to put up with their constant quarrelling was a grim one. Was this going to be his existence for the foreseeable future? Playing referee between his twin and his new friend?

He despaired at the thought. But he could always live in hope, no matter how exhausting it was.

————————————————————————

tag list @boulderfall-cave , @padomaicocean (lmk if you’d like to be added!)

#oc: fahjoth #oc: ribyna #julan kaushibael #morrowind #dunmer #nerevarine #dunmer oc #elder scrolls #elder scrolls fanfic #tes iii: morrowind

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lake-arrius-caverns · 4 years ago

Text

Nerevarine Rising

Chapter 6: Ancestors

summary Luckily for Fahjoth, Ribyna is more than happy to assist him with his next assignment and he’s feeling positive. But will it go as well as they hope?

content warnings mild threat/violence

tag list @boulderfall-cave , @padomaicocean (lmk if you’d like to be added!)

read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍

:: First :: || << Previous << || >> Next >> || :: Masterpost ::

—————————————————————————————

Not even the deep grey clouds that hung overhead the following morning could squash Fahjoth’s spirit as he trotted along the dusty path with Ribyna in tow. The fragmented sleep he had managed to achieve overnight had done little to soothe his aches and pains, but nonetheless, Fahjoth walked along with an evident spring in his step. It was hard not to let his excitement show, and in a stark contrast to the previous night, he had a near permanent grin etched onto his face.

“You sure you know where you’re going?” Ribyna called, on the alert for aggressive wildlife or hostile thieves. Fahjoth turned to face Ribyna but continued walking, so that he was effectively walking backwards while addressing her.

“Course I do! I remember the way to Seyda Neen. And from there we just need to find the t—“

His statement was abruptly cut off as he felt himself suddenly drop; his heart leapt up to his throat and his gut lurched as he plummeted backwards, before the world stopped spinning and his brief moment of weightlessness came to an end as he landed flat on his back. As the air was knocked out of his lungs, he lay there and stared up at the sky, wheezing, before Ribyna’s surly face suddenly obscured his view of the clouds.

“Well done, shit-for-brains.”

With a groan, Fahjoth struggled to sit up and stared reproachfully at the small rock that he had tripped over. As he opened his mouth to reply to Ribyna’s taunt, he paused as a strange sound reached his ears. Ribyna seemed to have heard it as well, for she looked up and stared straight ahead into a mass of scrubby bushes nearby which rustled and twitched, despite there being very little wind to disturb them. He pulled himself to his feet as slowly as he could, while the quiet shhk of gliding metal indicated that Ribyna had drawn out her dagger. But before Fahjoth could make a move of his own, a large, broad head suddenly jutted out of the foliage.

The creature it belonged to resembled some kind of reptile, with a large, domed forehead, tiny eyes and a noticeable underbite. As the rest of it followed, scaley hide glinting in the muted noon light, Fahjoth let out a laugh of joy as the creature began snuffling along the ground, tiny arms tucked against its chest.

“Ahh! Ribyna, look!” Fahjoth cried, taking a tentative step forward. “It’s a guar!”

Ribyna sounded much less enamoured by the creature as she kept back and watched from a distance. “Well don’t get too close, it might bite!”

“Nah, if it was gonna bite, it would’ve by now,” Fahjoth reasoned, taking a tentative step forward. The guar looked up and he stopped, crouching down slightly to present himself as less of a threat. “Hey, buddy!” he crooned, holding out his hand as one would do to coax a dog. The guar turned to face Fahjoth, its nostrils twitching as it scented his hand. Once it realised that he carried nothing edible, it chuffed quietly and continued on its way. Fahjoth felt awestruck nonetheless.

“Wow…” he breathed, straightening up and watching the guar toddle along the path. “Aren’t they brilliant?”

“Hm.” Ribyna sounded less than impressed as she stared with one brow cocked. “Anyway, let’s stop fucking about, come on! It’s gonna start hammering down soon and I’d rather not get soaked.”

“Okay, okay,” Fahjoth sighed, walking onwards with his twin but feeling strangely uplifted by the encounter.

The rest of the trip south to Seyda Neen passed without event, and fortunately, the tomb was relatively easy to locate as well. A smaller path diverged from the main road, leading up to a visible door constructed into the side of a smooth grey rock face set into the hill. The siblings ascended the path — with Fahjoth lingering along the way to fawn over a nearby scrib before being forcibly dragged away by Ribyna — until they reached the weather-beaten wooden door, where they both came to a stop.

They stood in front of the door, but for a few moments neither spoke a word. Eventually, Ribyna took a deep breath and cleared her throat. “Right, well, let’s go then,” she said, raising a hand towards the door but not yet making contact. Fahjoth knew and understood why; he was more than apprehensive about entering the tomb himself. But after appearing to mentally psyche herself up, Ribyna firmly pushed the door open, triggering a sudden cascade of silt and tiny rock fragments from the door frame above their heads.

“Ugh—!” Ribyna spluttered as she frantically wafted the dust cloud away from her face, but Fahjoth was silent; with his hand held over his nose and mouth as he squinted into the shadows of the tomb, it was with the gift of hindsight that he wished he’d brought a torch or lantern.

“Right… are you ready to go in?” he asked Ribyna, glancing at her with uncertainty. “It’s… kind of dark in there.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Not scared of the dark now, are you, Fahji?” Ribyna crooned, and Fahjoth felt his cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

“No!” he protested, but a frown crept onto his face as he gazed into the gloom. “But I’m kind of scared of what might be in it.”

Surprisingly, Ribyna didn’t seem to have a witty comeback to tease him with this time. She simply grimaced and nodded in understanding, then flashed him a wry grin. “Well, it’s lucky you’ve got me then, innit? Come on.” After giving a gentle tug on Fahjoth’s arm to encourage him, Ribyna strode on ahead into the crypt and Fahjoth hastened to catch up.

Even with the door of the tomb left open, the gloom seemed to envelop them within seconds. Fahjoth held out a hand as he edged along one step at a time, flinching as his fingertips brushed along the cold walls and fighting the urge to recoil his hand with every unexpected bump or notch in the stone, afraid of what he could potentially touch in the unyielding darkness.

Then something brushed against his other hand and his breath caught in his throat, his heart immediately hammering against the inside of his chest as he whipped his arm back to safety — but as his brain caught up with his senses and he heard a gasp and a series of rapid footsteps, he realised that he had merely brushed his sibling’s shoulder.

“Ugh, this is ridiculous!” he heard Ribyna hiss. “I’m gonna try something, hang on.”

Fahjoth waited in silence, wondering what Ribyna was doing but appreciating the moment of pause, taking it as an opportunity to try and calm his nerves down again. He didn’t have to wait for long, however, as a small flame suddenly erupted into life in the darkness, casting a deep amber glow on the surrounding walls and illuminating their way forward, if only slightly. Ribyna’s face was lit up the most as she held out her palm, upon which a tiny flame danced and flickered away enthusiastically.

“Yes!”

“Nice one!” Fahjoth praised. “Merrick would be proud—”

Too late did Fahjoth realise his mistake, and he cut himself off abruptly as he saw the grin immediately vanish from Ribyna’s face. She said nothing but instead continued walking on in silence, and Fahjoth hurried along in her wake and reached out for her shoulder as they went.

“Sorry, Beebs,” he apologised, but he was still bothered by a feeling he couldn’t shake. In all the time they had been together, both in prison and later in Vvardenfell, not once had they discussed the event that had been the catalyst for their arrest. In fact, since reuniting, they had barely talked about any aspect of their old lives at all. But, in Fahjoth’s case, this wasn’t for lack of wanting to. “Look… are we ever gonna talk about—”

“No.”

“Ribyna—”

“I said no, Fahjoth. I don’t want to.”

As uncomfortable as Fahjoth felt, he knew better than to provoke Ribyna by antagonising her further. So he let the matter drop and quietly accepted that they would not broach the subject again any time soon.

It was Ribyna who broke the silence next. “Eugh, can you smell that?”

Fahjoth cautiously sniffed the air, instinctively wrinkling his nose as a foul smell, putrid and oddly sweet, suddenly hit his senses. “Ew… well, we are in a tomb,” he pointed out. “It’s bound to smell a bit rank down here.”

“I suppose…”

The path into the crypt continued on, angling down a mild incline, while Ribyna’s flame casted dancing shadows along the narrow corridor. As they went on, a quiet buzz reached Fahjoth’s ears, and the stomach-churning smell only continued to grow worse with every step. Finally, they reached a larger chamber at the base of the corridor, and from the light of the fire they were able to see the source.

Fahjoth recoiled as his eyes fell upon a large, dark shape lying prone on the floor, with indistinct black dots swarming around it — fleshflies. Ribyna raised her hand to angle the light more precisely on the mass, casting every wrinkle of clothing and detail of armour into sharp relief. The head was concealed by a leather helm, and for that, Fahjoth was grateful; only a withered, decaying hand crawling with insects gave any indication of the condition of the corpse underneath its garments. A dried, dark brown stain pooled out from beneath the body — whether as a result of old blood from a fatal wound or simply tissue decomposition, Fahjoth couldn’t tell.

“Ew…” Ribyna said, drawing her scarf up to cover her mouth and nose in an attempt to ward off the smell. “Looks like we’re not the first ones here. Reckon your Orc woman sent him here to do her favour, too?”

Fahjoth was silent, staring at the cadaver with horror — a feeling which only vastly amplified as he watched Ribyna crouch down and, with a kind of repulsed detachment, tugged something out from under the body’s arm.

“Ribyna, what the fuck are you—?!”

“Look, it’s a lantern,” Ribyna remarked, holding up the cracked glass casing and sounding so utterly nonchalant about stealing from a corpse that Fahjoth was floored. She popped open the door and held her conjured fire out towards the candle wick, letting it light before allowing the flame in her hand to die. “There, now I can stop wasting brainpower. I don’t have much of that to spare in the first place.”

Fahjoth was dumbstruck, and eventually managed to shake his head in total disbelief. “I can’t believe you sometimes,” he said, though he couldn’t hide a wry smile nonetheless. Ribyna simply flashed him a wicked grin in response before carrying on, holding the lantern out at arm’s length to light their path.

The deeper they went into the tomb, the colder it seemed to become. A thin blanket of mist hung just above ground level, smokey tendrils creeping around doorways and stone caskets that bore collections of urns and jars. Some chambers featured circular pits set into the ground which contained mounds of ash, and judging by the shards of gleaming white jutting out of the grey dust, most of these held numerous bones. Fahjoth shivered, feeling the chill seeming to seep into his own bones, but Ribyna seemed to be handling it well, staring from wall to wall with curiosity on her face.

“D’you reckon we’ve got an ancestral tomb somewhere?” she asked suddenly, her mind evidently in a much different place to Fahjoth’s. Momentarily stumped by the question, Fahjoth eventually responded with uncertainty.

“I suppose so, I mean… Dad told us about his family before, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, but…” Ribyna grimaced, the next words appearing to cause her some discomfort. “They wouldn’t really be our ancestors, would they? Not properly.” She heaved a sigh, her breath appearing in the air before her in the form of a tiny cloud. “I dunno, it’s just… being called ‘outlander’ by every bastard makes me wonder if we even actually have any real ties here.”

Taken aback by Ribyna’s uncharacteristic poignancy, Fahjoth merely shook his head and shrugged. “I dunno, Beebs. I don’t suppose it really matters, we’re gonna get called outlanders either way. It’s definitely the accents,” he added as an irate afterthought, prompting a dry chuckle from Ribyna.

“Yup. Oh well, suppose we’ll just have to d— Oh, Fahjoth, look!”

Ribyna’s exclamation was accompanied by a pointing of her finger as she drew Fahjoth’s attention to another pit of dust in the chamber just ahead; this one was set apart from the rest by the skull and dagger placed so meticulously on a stone stool situated just in front of the pit itself. Fahjoth trotted over alongside Ribyna and, as the two crouched down to get a closer look, Ribyna turned to look at Fahjoth expectantly.

“Is this it, d’you reckon?”

“I think so...” He glanced back at his twin before focusing his attention back on the skull. Sure enough, it bore the telltale ritual markings that Sharn gra-Muzgob had described. “Only one way to find out, innit?”

Despite his words, Fahjoth hesitated. Now that he had located his prize, all of his misgivings had returned and he was conscious of the weight of the enchanted sword that hung from his belt — surely it had been lent to him for a reason.

If— no, when he picked up the skull, what would happen? Would he trigger a trap that would cause the roof to cave in over his and Ribyna’s heads? Would he suddenly be struck down by a powerful curse? Or perhaps he would wake the souls of the ancestors that rested here, and be besieged by an army of vengeful ghosts?

Ribyna seemed to be getting impatient with Fahjoth’s dithering, for she suddenly gave his shoulder a rather forceful push. “Come on, what’s the hold up? Just pick it up, don’t be such a fucking pussy.”

“Alright, alright!” Fahjoth huffed, reaching into his pocket for the cloth sack he had brought for the occasion. He shuffled both hands into the sack, wearing it like an oversized mitten as he tentatively scooped up the skull and let the sack invert itself over it, still afraid of touching it with his bare skin. For a few seconds, he held his breath, remaining in a motionless crouch while he waited to see if anything would happen following the skull’s removal. The seconds ticked by and, to his elation, there was no cave-in, no sudden pox or plague upon him, and no horde of angry spirits rising to tear him limb from limb. Nothing untoward occurred whatsoever. They were safe!

“There we are!” Ribyna jeered, patting Fahjoth roughly on the back as he stood up, feeling almost giddy with relief. While he bobbed on the spot, thrilled with this one tiny achievement, Ribyna crouched down to pick up the dagger that had been left behind on the stool. “I’d say that’s a job well done. Looks like you didn’t need me after a—”

Her words died in her throat as, with a subtle fshk, an arrow pierced the air between them — whizzing directly over Ribyna’s head — and ricocheted off the back wall of the chamber. Spinning frantically to locate the source, Fahjoth let out a choked gasp as he clapped eyes on their attacker.

“Fuck-a-doodle-doo!” Ribyna yelled, wide-eyed as she stared with horror at the skeleton while it drew another arrow into its bow, the telltale creaking of its bones providing a quiet hum that seemed to echo through the chamber.

“Shit, not again—!” Fahjoth exclaimed, already beginning to descend into a state of panic. The chamber was cramped and, without much in the way of large objects to take cover behind, he and Ribyna were essentially sitting targets for the undead archer who was taking aim once more.

“Ribyna, just keep moving!” Fahjoth yelped, using the limited space available to dart from spot to spot as erratically as he physically could. Ribyna, meanwhile, seemed to have other ideas.

Fahjoth’s jaw nearly hit the ground as he watched his twin lunge and grasp a nearby urn tightly in both hands. He felt his stomach drop, knowing full well what was coming next.

“Ribyna, don’t—!”

“Get fucked, you bony bastard!”

The urn was launched through the air, flying up in a graceful arc — spilling its ashy contents in a cloud of dust in the process — and collided with the skeleton’s skull, shattering both itself and the bone on impact. The skeleton crumpled, its bones falling apart as whatever magic had been fastening the joints together dissipated, filling the chamber with a deafening clattering as both bone and pottery shards went spilling onto the ground.

As Fahjoth stared mutely at the chaotic scene, a thick silence fell upon the tomb for a second or two; until an eerie hissing began to reach his ears, seeming to turn his blood to ice in his veins. Was it just his eyes, or was the mist that drifted above the ground growing thicker?

“Oh, Ribyna...!” Fahjoth groaned, turning to look at his twin with despairing exasperation. She merely stared back, wide-eyed and alarmed, before she snatched the lantern from where she’d put it down and rushed to grab Fahjoth’s hand.

“Well, come on then!” she barked, rushing out of the chamber and dragging Fahjoth along in her wake. They barely made it to the next chamber up before they found a figure, pale green and gleaming with an ethereal glow, blocking their path. Bright smoke seemed to billow along their path as they glided towards the twins, reaching out with unnaturally long, spindly fingers topped with deadly sharp nails.

“For fuck’s sake, you’ve woken the whole bloody tomb up!” Fahjoth complained, dropping a hand towards his sheathed weapon. But Ribyna got there first, whipping out her trusty chitin dagger and slashing it at the spirit — only to watch as the blade sailed right on through.

“Fahjoth, we can’t touch them— Shit!”

The ghost, undeterred by Ribyna’s dagger, had retaliated with a vengeance by slashing its claw-like nails across her chest. She leapt back to avoid the strike, gasping as it left tangible scores in her leather armour and for a moment, in the mixed light from the lantern and the ghost’s cold luminescence, fear flashed across her face.

“Fahjoth—!”

“Hold on, Ribyna—! Get back!” he cried, drawing his own sword from its sheath at last. His eyes widened as his face was suddenly bathed in the fierce heat of the flames that flickered along the blade, and in that moment, it clicked. He charged and swung the sword with a ferocious yell, watching as, with a searing blaze of scarlet fire, it carved a gash through the ghost’s midriff from which thick smoke began to spill. The spirit emitted an ear-splitting shriek, drifting towards Fahjoth again with its spectral features twisted into a grotesque snarl, but Fahjoth was ready this time. He sprung forward again and plunged the sword straight through the spirit’s chest, stopping it in its tracks and causing it to let out another piercing screech before it suddenly dissolved, disappearing in a matter of seconds and leaving behind nothing but a sinister puddle on the ground.

As Fahjoth paused to catch his breath, he turned to Ribyna and held up the sword by means of explanation. “Enchanted,” he puffed. “The weapon’s got to be enchanted.”

Ribyna opened her mouth to respond, but she was cut off by another chilling howl that echoed through the corridors behind them. Without a word the twins snatched each others’ hands once more and fled through the tomb, guided by the limited light of the lantern that Ribyna still carried and hounded by the sinister whispering and shrieking of infuriated spirits. After a mad dash through the crypt, the entrance was finally in sight, spilling glorious daylight into the otherwise pitch blackness ahead of them.

With one last burst of speed they cleared the exit together, and once outside, Fahjoth slammed the tomb door behind them hard enough that it rattled in its frame before becoming still. With a cool rain now battering them, Fahjoth and Ribyna stood in silence, leaning against the damp stone wall on either side of the tomb door and panting as they struggled to catch their breath. Eventually, Fahjoth broke the silence.

“I can’t believe you chucked someone’s grandma at a skeleton.”

Ribyna squinted, still leaning over with her hands on her knees and puffing heavily from a combination of exertion and adrenalin from their daring escape. Once her breathing had calmed, she finally straightened up and stared back at Fahjoth with her hands on her hips.

“I s’pose the locals are right,” she said, her tone even and measured. “Turns out ancestors are useful.”

A moment of silence followed this statement, before Fahjoth couldn’t hold it in any longer. With a grin curling at the corners of his mouth he began to laugh, quietly at first but quickly coming down with hysterics at the sheer absurdity of the situation. Ribyna quickly followed suit, catching his contagious laughter and breaking out into an uncontrollable fit of the giggles.

Once the laughter died down, Fahjoth rolled his eyes and extended an arm towards Ribyna, who accepted his offer and linked it with her own. In unison they began the lengthy stroll back to Balmora, neither of them complaining about the drizzle leaving their clothes soaked through and their hair dripping and plastered to their faces.

Despite a few blunders, Fahjoth felt that his second task had been at least somewhat of a success. Emboldened by the little victories, it was then that he dared to hope that perhaps this Blades business wouldn’t be so bad after all — especially when he had good company to help him see it through.

#oc: fahjoth #oc: ribyna #tes #tes fic #morrowind #dunmer #dunmer oc #nerevarine #elder scrolls #elder scrolls fanfiction #tes iii: morrowind #elder scrolls fanfic

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lake-arrius-caverns · 4 years ago

Text

Nerevarine Rising

Chapter 4: Arkngthand

summary After a few days of guild work and running odd jobs around Balmora, Fahjoth’s thirst for adventure continues to grow. On being given an assignment to venture into a Dwemer ruin, he is elated — but is he getting ahead of himself?

content warnings mild threat/violence

tag list @boulderfall-cave , @padomaicocean (lmk if you’d like to be added!)

read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍

:: First :: || << Previous << || >> Next >> || :: Masterpost ::

—————————————————————————————

“I joined the Mages Guild.”

“You what?”

Fahjoth stood there, knee deep in the Odai River and grinned back at Ribyna, who was sitting on the bank sharpening a chitin dagger. He knew he had the dopiest, silliest smile on his face, but he couldn’t help it; Ribyna’s incredulous expression was tickling him.

“The fuck have you done that for?” Ribyna asked. “The only thing you can cast is a shadow.”

“Oi!” Fahjoth laughed, too accustomed to Ribyna’s mean teasing to take offence. “That’s why I joined it. I want to learn! You should join, too.”

Ribyna grimaced. “Nah, you’re alright. Didn’t you join the Fighters Guild as well?”

“I did! I think that’s where I’ll be most useful,” Fahjoth admitted. “I might not be any good at magic, but turns out I can swing a sword decently.”

In the days that had passed since Fahjoth arrived at Cosades’ house, he had done as advised and set out to build up his strength. In addition to securing membership in — and running a few menial jobs for — the Fighters Guild and Mages Guild, Fahjoth had visited several of Cosades’ recommended trainers to get some practise in moving in armour and using larger weapons than the daggers he was used to. With the gold he had been gifted, he had even purchased a set of chitin armour and a gleaming steel shortsword for himself, which certainly came in handy when exterminating rats from old ladies’ homes.

Today, he was to meet Cosades at noon to receive his first assignment. Fahjoth was even beginning to feel a little excited; this was the very reason he was here, after all. Who knew what thrilling mission Cosades had lined up for the newest Blades recruit?

But for now, while the sun was up and basking Balmora in a warm early light, Fahjoth had taken the morning off and met with Ribyna to catch up and relax. She squinted at him, finally paying attention to the fact that he was standing in the shallows of the river.

“Any particular reason you’re going for a paddle?” she asked, finally setting down her dagger and nodding towards his feet. “It’s not that hot today.”

“I’m practising a water walking spell I got from the Guild,” Fahjoth answered happily.

Ribyna raised a brow. “You sure that wasn’t a water sinking spell instead? ‘Cause if it is, you’re doing great.”

“Oh ha ha. It’s a hard spell!” However, Fahjoth was ready to admit defeat for now, emerging from the river and sitting beside his twin to let his feet dry off in the sun. “So, what’ve you got planned for today?”

Ribyna shrugged. “Not much. I’ll see if Habasi wants anything doing. What about you? You off to see this Cosades bloke?”

“In a bit,” Fahjoth said. “He’s got my first job for me today, apparently.”

“Juicy. So are you gonna tell me what it is you’re doing now?”

“You know I can’t.”

Ribyna turned to Fahjoth, her face falling into a rather petulant frown. “You‘ve never given a shit before. Come on, can’t you just tell me? Not like I’m gonna tell anyone, is it?”

Fahjoth sighed, trying to look as sincere as possible. “I’d love to tell you, Beebs, honestly. I would. But Cosades made me swear to secrecy. I’m not allowed to tell anyone.”

Ribyna was quiet for a moment. “Is it really that serious?” Then she laughed. “I mean, it’s not like you’re a secret agent for the Emperor, is it?”

Fahjoth forced a laugh, feeling wildly uncomfortable all of a sudden. “Hah! Wouldn’t that be mad?” Partly for a distraction, he shielded his eyes and glanced up at the sky. “Anyway, I should probably get going. Don’t wanna be late for Cosades,” he said, as he replaced his boots and hauled himself to his feet.

“Alright.” Following Fahjoth’s example, Ribyna stood up and stretched with a dramatic groan. “I’ll see you later then. If you’re free, meet me in the South Wall Cornerclub this evening? I’ll get the first round in.”

“Sounds good!” Fahjoth agreed with a grin, patting his twin on the shoulder as he set off for Cosades’ house. “See you later.” He turned and waved over his shoulder as Ribyna called back to him.

“Bye, Fahji. Good luck!”

—————————————————————————————

As Fahjoth let himself into Cosades’ house, he was unsurprised now to find the older man completely shirtless yet again. In fact, it was a rarer sight to see him actually wearing anything over his chest.

“You’re early,” Cosades remarked. “Good, that shows eagerness. Are you ready for your first task?”

“Yessir!” Fahjoth confirmed, trying to curb his enthusiasm and resisting the urge to salute.

“Excellent. Here’s what I need you to do.” Cosades handed over a scrap of parchment, upon which instructions had been neatly scrawled — fairly useless to Fahjoth, as his reading ability was no better now than it had been when he had first arrived. He took it regardless and waited for Cosades to continue. “Go talk to Hasphat Antabolis at the Balmora Fighters Guild. Ask him what he knows about the Nerevarine secret cult and the Sixth House secret cult. You'll have to do him a favour first. Probably an ugly favour. But do it. Then get the information from Antabolis and report back to me.”

Fahjoth paused, the spark of excitement that had been burning in his chest shrivelling up and dying within seconds. Disappointed didn’t even begin to cover it; he had been expecting daring missions full of adventure and maybe a little bit of danger to get the blood pumping. Instead, he was being sent to... gather intel?

Well, there’s a bit of glamour in that, in a way, Fahjoth reasoned to himself as he made his way over to the Balmora Fighters Guild. Learning about secret cults was sure to be fascinating — not that he had any idea what the ‘Nerevarine’ or the ‘Sixth House’ even were. Still, it must have been important — to Cosades at least, if nobody else — and Fahjoth was determined to make his first assignment a success.

Hasphat Antabolis was, thankfully, easy to locate, standing in the base of the Guild in discussion with another member. Trying his utmost to seem polite and professional, he approached the Fighters Guild’s Drillmaster and waited for Antabolis’ conversation to end.

“Good day, Associate,” Antabolis greeted, turning to Fahjoth once he had finished. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi, sir. I’m actually here on a job from Caius Cosades,” Fahjoth explained.

“So you're with Caius, eh? Let me guess, he wants information?”

“Yes sir.”

“I see.” Antabolis didn’t seem overly surprised. “Of course, there's a this-for-that involved here. I’d like to ask a favour first, and then I'll tell you what you want to know.”

Fahjoth had been expecting that. “Of course, sir,” he said, wondering what kind of favour Antabolis was looking for. Maybe to run some shopping errands, or to take some armour to be repaired?

“There are Dwemer ruins nearby called Arkngthand. I need you to run over there and find me a little copper cube. It's called a ‘Dwemer puzzle box’. Bring me back the box, and I'll tell you what you want to know.”

Fahjoth’s smile slipped for a moment as he realised what Antabolis had asked of him. “A Dwemer ruin?” he repeated, beginning to feel that flicker of excitement again — accompanied by apprehension, of course, but he pushed that aside. After the rigorous training he had received, an expedition into some Dwemer ruins was bound to be a breeze!

“Yes.” Antabolis began tracing the approximate shape of the cube in the air with his fingers. “It’s a little cube, about the size of a fist, maybe a little bigger. It will have a circular design, symbols on one side and some lined marks on the others. That's all I want, that little cube. You probably won’t even need to go venturing too deep into the ruins. Can you do that for me, Associate?”

Fahjoth nodded, feeling a wave of hopeful determination flooding his chest. “Yes sir! I’ll head there right now.”

After lingering for long enough to commit the instructions regarding Arkngthand to memory, Fahjoth set off, stopping at Cosades’ to collect his armour and sword before strolling out of Balmora on his next adventure. The sense of trepidation persisted, but it was drowned out by Fahjoth’s overwhelming curiosity and eagerness to explore new places and put his new skills to the test. It was just an old, uninhabited ruin, after all — as long as he was careful, he should be just fine.

Plus, he did have some experience with old ruins; he and Ribyna had ventured through the weathered stone doors of ancient Ayleid ruins back in Cyrodiil, with a group of friends from the Waterfront. Granted, they had barely gone deeper than the entrance hallway, but still! That had to count for something.

Fahjoth’s good mood only continued to grow as he reached the crest of an earthy hill, the vegetation having grown more and more sparse the nearer he got to Caldera. Once he spotted the Dwemer bridge, he couldn’t hold back a jubilant grin. He’d made it! Perhaps it was his euphoria at having successfully followed directions, but even the broad metal bridge itself had a certain rustic charm to it, despite being coated in a layer of dust and dirt built up over the years. Each footstep caused a reverberating clang to echo over the crevasse beneath, which Fahjoth peered down at with interest as he crossed, running his fingertips over the brass handle and feeling its mild, sunkissed warmth against his skin.

Once he reached the other side, he was plunged into the shadow of Arkngthand. For a few moments, he was struck silent with awe at the sheer scale of it, the surrounding hills dotted by colossal turrets jutting out of the earth — and that was just the part he could see. From his position outside, all seemed still and quiet, but if he strained his ears and listened, he could hear something from deep within the ruins; the soft whisper of steam and a slow, gentle rumble that caused the hairs along his arms to stand on end with anticipation. And here was a scent that hung faintly in the air, growing more potent the closer in proximity he got to the ruins — a strange earthy yet metallic tang that lingered in his nose and even left a hint on his tongue.

He recalled Antabolis giving him advice, suggesting that there would likely be an external mechanism to power the door. Fortunately, Fahjoth didn’t have to look too far before his eyes fell on a rusted metal wheel protruding out of the ground, which was somewhat stiff but still mobile. And once Fahjoth succeeded in twisting it, he heard the unpleasant groaning of metal and looked up just in time to see the ruin’s spherical entrance gliding open, revealing a door leading into what he assumed was the entrance hall. To his alarm, the rotating sphere began to slowly shut again, and so Fahjoth leapt into action and hurtled in through the entrance before it was sealed once more, assuming — and hoping — there would be some kind of opening mechanism on the other side.

Once inside, Fahjoth’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom. Along the dim hallways, strange elongated lights were fastened to the walls, casting a warm orange glow with which he was able to navigate. It didn’t escape his notice, however, that several wooden boxes and containers lined the halls, upon which candles sat — many flickering with a small flame. That seemed very unusual for somewhere that was supposedly uninhabited…

Then, he froze as it slowly dawned on him that Antabolis had never once claimed that Arkngthand was uninhabited. That was entirely Fahjoth’s own assumption.

And with that his confidence evaporated in an instant, to be replaced with a heavy apprehension that he could not shake. The ambience of the ruins only exacerbated his nervousness; now that he was inside, he could hear the clanking and groaning of ancient Dwemer machinery all too clearly, along with the occasional hiss as a puff of steam escaped from a loose joint in a brass pipe, both of which provided a constant, repetitive backdrop of noise that was impossible to ignore. Every so often, a much louder clunk or creak echoed through the tunnels, and Fahjoth flinched and froze, half-expecting the rusted supports holding up the dense stone walls to finally give way and collapse overhead. But there was no turning back now. He needed that cube.

The air now was stifling; warm, stale and thick with the acrid taste of metal, and only getting worse the further and deeper he delved into the ruins. Fahjoth began to feel beads of sweat gently dripping down his forehead and back, making him cringe with discomfort. With caution he pressed onwards, frequently pausing and straining his senses to listen out for any sign of life. And soon, it reached him; voices, coming from an area just up ahead, chatting amongst themselves and apparently oblivious to his presence.

Fahjoth soon left the corridor and found himself overlooking a vast chamber, cut into the ground itself with stone slopes leading down to the base and up again on the opposite side to a second floor built into the cavern wall. Neither slope looked particularly structurally sound, and he grimaced at the thought of trying to sneak down undetected. So instead he stopped to listen, hoping to glean any information from the two men — an Imperial and a Redguard — loitering around a collection of boxes on the rough, stony ground beneath him.

“How long are we staying in this shithole anyway? It’s fucking roasting in here.”

“No idea. Long enough for us to find enough Dwarven shit to make a profit off of, I guess. Since Crito’s found that weird cube, he reckons there’s more lying around that the right people will pay a fortune for.”

“Really? He’s still holding onto that junk?”

“Yup. Keeping it in the safe room up there. He seems to know his stuff, so maybe he’s right.”

“Maybe. I still think we’d have been better off raiding a tomb, though.”

As the men continued to debate the merits of sacking an ancestral tomb over looting Dwemer ruins, Fahjoth had his answers at least. The Imperial below had pointed upwards as he spoke, gesturing to a doorway on the upper floor of the chamber across from where he stood, which was as good a hint as he was likely to get. But even armed with this information, he was still faced with the issue of how to actually get himself over there without being noticed. He’d never been a particularly skilled sneak, but just maybe—

“Come on, I’m sure there’s some flin ‘round here somewhere. I’m sure nobody’ll miss it if we just take one or two bottles.”

Fahjoth could scarcely believe his luck. As the men began to amble further away and rummage around in some crates in the alcove beneath the second floor, he took his chance. As light-footed as a cat, but with less than half the grace, he scrabbled down the slope to his right, occasionally gasping and half-running as he felt rocks and soil shifting beneath his boots. It was with relief that he reached the ground, but there was no time to hesitate — within seconds he had crossed the chamber and was ascending the second slope, having to use his hands for balance as he clambered up the dilapidated ramp. At last he reached the next floor, where he was faced with another circular bronze door which he fully expected to be locked, but to his surprise, it swung open as enthusiastically as he pushed it with scarcely a creak. Clearly it was in frequent use.

But as Fahjoth took a single step into the room, he found himself face to face with the largest Imperial he had ever seen in his life, whose broad shoulders were barely contained by the iron cuirass he donned. For a few moments the two simply locked eyes and stood in silence, both rather stunned by the sudden appearance of the other. Then, with a ferocious yell, the Imperial grasped the gleaming handle of a nearby battleaxe and swung it at Fahjoth without hesitation.

With only a second to react, Fahjoth threw himself to the ground, panic wiping his mind completely blank. His first instinct was to flee, but now the man stood between him and the doorway, and there were no alternative means of escape that he could see. As he scrambled to his feet, Fahjoth leapt back as the man came lunging at him again and again with his axe, horrified by the determination on the Imperial’s face as he made one attempt after another to cleave him in half.

The room, cluttered as it was with crates and stacks of shelves, was definitely not spacious enough to keep up these kinds of manoeuvres. Fahjoth’s only saving grace was that the man, in his heavy armour and wielding his cumbersome battleaxe, was far slower in comparison to him. But the man also had the advantage of both facing ahead and knowing the layout of the room. Continually driven back by the pendulous momentum of the blade, Fahjoth’s heart leapt into his mouth as his heel suddenly collided with a small box on the floor. With an almighty crash, he plummeted straight to the ground, bashing his shoulders on a brass pipe mounted on the wall behind him.

He risked a glance upwards. The axe blade was poised high in the air once more, ready to come crashing down over his head and split his skull into two. With blood pounding in his ears and adrenalin flooding his system, Fahjoth launched himself into a clumsy barrel-roll, tumbling past the Imperial’s legs a mere heartbeat before the axe fell upon the pipe that he had been leaning against.

There was an ear-splitting shriek of metal on metal, but that barely measured up to the scream of the Imperial as a scalding jet of steam suddenly erupted from the broken pipe, filling the room with a hot, dense white fog within seconds. Fahjoth didn’t stop to check on the state of the man as he heard the axe fall clattering to the floor — his only goal was to escape. Squinting through the mist, he dashed around the scattered shelves and crates and hurtled towards the door, but as he neared it, something caught his eye.

A small bronze cube sat innocuously on a row of shelves to his right, and Fahjoth’s heart skipped a beat. Without pausing to examine it, he grasped the little box tightly in his hand and threw his whole body weight against the door to shove it open.

What he hadn’t been expecting was the door to smack the Redguard from earlier in the face, knocking him back against the wall with a yell and leaving him in a dazed slump, blood already pouring from his now crooked nose. Which meant that—

Sure enough, the first Imperial stood slack-jawed at the top of the slope, flabbergasted by the sudden appearance of a strange Dunmer. It didn’t take long for him to recover, however, and Fahjoth’s breath caught in his throat as he saw the man reaching down to his waist where a dagger hung in its sheath. Fahjoth didn’t hesitate; driven by sheer desperation, he charged straight ahead like a wild guar, bashing his shoulder hard against the Imperial’s as he legged it haphazardly down the rocky slope. There was a yell and a dull thud from behind him as the Imperial, pushed clean off the edge of the slope by the force of Fahjoth’s bash, collided with the ground, and Fahjoth could hear only too clearly the enraged shouts of a number of men from behind him as they began to give chase. He didn’t look back.

With his gaze fixed ahead of him and mouth dry, the beating of his heart as well as own footsteps ringing in his ears, his face feeling hot and his lungs cramping as a result of the sweltering atmosphere in the subterranean ruins, Fahjoth put his every ounce of strength into fleeing. With the head start he had secured he was able to bolt up the opposite slope, clambering up into the entrance tunnels and sprinting the length of the dimly lit corridors to the exit. At last, he turned a corner and Arkngthand’s entrance, his passage to the safe haven that was the outside world, suddenly popped into view. He stopped only to twist the copper wheel powering the entrance mechanism, his hands slippery with sweat yet whizzing around faster than they had ever moved in his life until, with a telltale groan, the spherical door ground open and daylight flooded the gloom.

The voices behind him were getting louder, their vicious insults and threats echoing through the tunnels, and though Fahjoth’s muscles were screaming for respite, he didn’t halt. He took off, rushing out into the fresh air, where a cool breeze caressed his clammy skin as his hands worked to spin the outside wheel powering the door machinery. Glancing up, he saw two figures come loping through the darkness of Arkngthand’s tunnels — before the door rasped shut once more, obscuring them from sight completely.

As dearly as he wished to collapse into an inert heap on the dusty ground, Fahjoth knew he couldn’t relax yet. It would be seconds before the men — looters? bandits? smugglers? — reopened the door and resumed their pursuit of him. So it was with trembling legs that he trotted down the hill back towards the bridge, breathing a sigh of relief as no sound to indicate that he was still being chased reached his ears.

Finally, he began to feel as if he could slow down. Now, with the adrenalin beginning to subside, he was left acutely aware of the stitch tearing up his midsection and each step felt almost torturous. The fog of panic was beginning to dissipate from his head, leaving him able to think clearly at last.

He glanced down at the cube in his hand, cold and surprisingly heavy now that he really focused on it. He examined the inscriptions donning the sides, feeling a stab of anxiety— what if, after all that trouble, he had picked up the wrong cube? But the more he scrutinised it, he realised it was more or less a perfect match for Antabolis’ description. And then came the overwhelming euphoria.

He’d done it!

A grin spread across Fahjoth’s features as he gazed at the cube, so wide it almost hurt his cheeks. His first mission had been a rousing success — alright, it had been far from perfect, but besides a few scuff marks on the chitin of his armour, it was near impossible to tell that he’d even faced a struggle at all. And surely his superiors didn’t need to know about his unfortunate encounter. Why, he hadn’t even used his sword—

Suddenly, Fahjoth threw up a hand and slapped his forehead, eyes squeezed tightly shut in annoyance and embarrassment. Blinded by fear, he’d completely forgotten about the perfectly good weapon that hung in a sheath from his belt. But the more he thought about it, the more he realised that he and his shortsword may not have been much of a match for the brute of a man wielding a battleaxe anyway. At least, not yet. That was something to focus on in training.

An echoing clang roused him from his thoughts and announced that he’d set foot on the bridge, but as Fahjoth looked up, he was surprised to see a man standing ahead. He’d been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he’d completely failed to realise that he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t alarmed to see the grey-haired Imperial, but he did wonder what the older gentleman was doing out here in the middle of nowhere.

“Ah, don’t mind me!” Fahjoth called to announce his presence, holding up a hand to signify that he was not hostile as he began to stride across the bridge. “Just, uh, heading home—”

His words abruptly died in his throat, however, as a pulsating ball of blinding light suddenly erupted from the man’s outstretched hand, hitting Fahjoth square in the chest and flinging him to the ground like a ragdoll. He yowled in pain as the electricity coursed through his body briefly before dissipating, leaving him gasping for breath and struggling to regain full control of his limbs. The Dwemer box had been thrown from his hand as he fell; it lay around two metres away, between himself and the battlemage, whose hand pulsed with a sinister indigo aura as a walking skeleton clutching a war-axe suddenly materialised into thin air beside him.

“What are you doing—?!” Fahjoth yelled, wheezing after the collision with the hard metal base of the bridge knocked the air out of his lungs. “I’m not— I don’t want to fight you—!”

But the Imperial didn’t seem to be paying any heed. He summoned another spell, a blistering ball of flame that he launched at Fahjoth, who managed to avoid it by a whisker by frantically rolling to one side, although he still felt a scorching wave of heat as the fireball exploded on the spot where he had been lying a mere second prior. Scrambling to his feet, panic building once more, Fahjoth was faced with the man preparing another spell and the skeleton, an actual intact human skeleton, loping towards him, brandishing its rusted blade and its bones creaking as they scraped against each other with every movement. For a split second, Fahjoth’s hand twitched towards his sword — but another convulsing ball of sparks coming his way dissuaded him from that idea completely. This was certainly not a battle he had any chance of winning.

He lunged for the ground just as the skeleton swung its axe for his head, and Fahjoth felt the blade skimming the top of his hair as he narrowly missed being struck by it. With fumbling fingers he grasped the cube and heaved himself back to his feet, dancing backwards to avoid the spells still being flung in his direction and to put as much distance as possible between himself and the skeleton. Except, now, he had another issue; his opponents were in the middle of the bridge, obstructing the way ahead and preventing his escape. Thinking fast, there was only one thing for it; Fahjoth clambered over the metal railing at the side of the bridge, desperate for an alternative escape route. He was close enough to the start of the bridge, it probably wouldn’t be too far a fall—

But the moment he put both feet on the railing, he felt himself losing his balance on the rounded surface. He had just enough time to catch a glimpse of the side of the crevasse below, the walls of which were much steeper than he had anticipated, before he lost his balance completely and felt himself plummeting down, his stomach lurching up sharply as he descended. With a strangled yelp he hit the rocky sides of the cleft and tumbled down the rest of the way to the base, almost choked by the dense cloud of dust he had disturbed on impact with the soil. Once again adrenalin overtook him, lending him the strength he needed to drag himself to his feet and stagger the width of the crevasse and over to the other side, his grazed fingers still firmly clutching the precious cube. He felt more than heard the crackling of spells as they went whistling past his head, and a scuffing against the ground behind him indicated that the skeleton had followed his path down into the chasm. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself into beginning the arduous climb back to the top of the crevasse, scrambling up the rock face and skidding on loose dirt before finally emerging at the top. From the corner of his eye he could see the battlemage running the length of the bridge, trailing Fahjoth like a hungry wolf while still firing hostile spells at him as he gave chase.

With one last burst of energy Fahjoth broke into another furious dash, bolting down the hill and sprinting along the path he now found himself on. He didn’t stop to look back, to check if he was being followed. His only objective was to return to Balmora as fast as possible. His lungs screamed with every frantic gasp of air he drew in, his heart hammering against his ribcage and reverberating dully between his ears. It was only once he passed under the arch at the town entrance and fled into the sanctuary of Balmora did he finally stop, and, in a haze of pain, exhaustion and sickening dizziness, he promptly fell to his knees.

As he kneeled there on the dusty ground, struggling to get his erratic breathing back under control, it was a few moments before Fahjoth could even begin to process his thoughts again. The first thing he noted was that he was safe now; he was back in civilisation at last. Numerous guards patrolled the streets, their helmed faces occasionally turning to look at the outlander collapsed into the dirt — probably with disdain but that was the least of Fahjoth's worries right now. With his chest feeling as though it was on fire, burning up from the inside with every inhalation, he closed his eyes and let the pleasant warmth of the late afternoon sun wash over him, easing the tension in his aching muscles. Finally, his breathing began to slow, allowing for more thoughts to surface in his troubled mind.

The truth had hit Fahjoth like a warhammer to the face. Today had been nothing short of a disaster. It was almost laughable to reminisce on how excited and confident he had been when he initially departed from Balmora. He struggled to believe that mere hours ago, he thought he was prepared for anything. What a ridiculous notion that was. How could he have been so naive? If that was only the first assignment Cosades had given him, he believed wholeheartedly that he needed the blessing of the gods to survive what else might lay in store.

His eyes fell down to the little cube he still clutched in his bloodied hand, the sight inspiring bitterness in his sore chest. First things first, he needed to return it to Antabolis; truthfully, he would be glad to see the back of it. The last thing he wanted was a reminder of how disastrous his little mission had gone. With embarrassment and misery now settling in his gut and pain racking him with every movement, Fahjoth dragged himself to his feet and finally limped his way back to the Fighters Guild for a less-than-triumphant return.

#oc: fahjoth #oc: ribyna #caius cosades #tes #tes fic #morrowind #dunmer #dunmer oc #nerevarine #elder scrolls #elder scrolls fanfiction #tes iii: morrowind

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lake-arrius-caverns · 4 years ago

Text

Nerevarine Rising

Chapter 3: Balmora

summary Fahjoth finds himself back in a place he once called home. He has somewhere to be, but first, a chance encounter makes his day.

content warnings none explicit for this chapter

tag list @boulderfall-cave , @padomaicocean (lmk if you’d like to be added!)

read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍

:: First :: || << Previous << || >> Next >> || :: Masterpost ::

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The road northwest to Balmora turned out to be quite a long one. Fahjoth was on edge for much of the journey; he had departed Seyda Neen with nothing but the prison rags on his back and the delivery he was to take to Caius Cosades. He was unarmed, unarmoured and weak with hunger and exhaustion. By some grace of the gods, however, he encountered no real danger on the way. The worst thing to cross his path was a bloated maggot-like creature that hopped after him with a surprisingly sprightly gait and attempted to fasten its gaping, circular mandibles around his ankle. A few good hard kicks and stomps were fortunately enough to deal with the disgusting creature, and Fahjoth continued on his way.

By the time he neared Balmora the rain had finally stopped, but a thick mist, stained a fiery amber with the setting of the sun, lay over the town and surrounding wilderness. The first thing Fahjoth noticed was the towering legs of the town’s silt strider, occasionally emitting its melancholy howl that caused the hairs on Fahjoth’s arm to stand on end.

Filled with awe, he passed under the archway at the town’s entrance, and his eyes were wide as he strained to catch every detail that Balmora offered. It was just as he remembered it. Shops and houses lined the streets, with the town’s residents going about their business and the golden-helmed guards pacing to and fro, brandishing flaming torches that cast an aura of orange light as the sky continued to grow darker. He made his way through the town, his feet almost carrying him automatically along a route that had been committed to memory long ago until he found himself facing the Odai River that cut through the centre of Balmora. Now, which way was the South Wall Cornerclub?

As he began wandering onwards, the sound of rapid footfalls reached his ears, growing louder and louder in a matter of seconds. And before Fahjoth could even think about reacting, a figure suddenly burst out of the alleyway to his left, taking a sharp turn and running straight into him. His shoulder exploded with pain as the figure collided with him, hard, knocking him clean off his feet and sending them both tumbling to the ground.

With his nerves already frayed and tiredness hitting him hard, Fahjoth was quick to berate the clumsy bastard. “Watch where you’re going, mate! Nearly fucking took me out!”

“Yeah, well you—!” The Dunmer’s retort died midway through being uttered, as Fahjoth suddenly grabbed them by the shoulders and turned them to see their face. The moment he had heard that voice, his heart began to race. But he had to know for sure.

Sure enough, his jaw nearly hit the ground as he locked eyes with his twin.

“Ribyna?!” he gasped, barely able to believe what he was seeing. She donned a loose cloak over her head and the lower half of her face was concealed by a scarf, but she was unmistakable.

“Fahjoth?!” Ribyna seemed just as shocked as Fahjoth did, but as Fahjoth pulled her into a hug, she was strangely reluctant to participate and instead endeavoured to free herself. Fahjoth was having none of it, however.

“You’re alive!” he cried, his eyes already welling up with tears of relief and joy. “Gods, I thought you were dead! What happened? What are you even doing he—“

Soon he could no longer ignore Ribyna’s struggling, which was at first rather hurtful — but then his eyes fell on something glittering on the ground a short distance away that Ribyna was desperate to reach.

“Is that a diamond—?!”

“Shut up!” Ribyna finally managed to escape and hastily scooped up the sparkling gems that she had dropped, spending a moment to dust both herself and the diamonds off. It was then that a cry was heard ringing over the otherwise quiet town:

“Thief!! I’ve been burgled! Guards!”

“Shit.” Ribyna extended an arm towards Fahjoth to help him to his feet, an offer which he accepted, albeit with bemusement. “Okay, play along, alright?” she requested, pulling her scarf down so that it hung casually around her neck. Fahjoth opened his mouth to question her, but Ribyna interrupted him, speaking loudly while throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Ah, so where was it you wanted to go? The South Wall Cornerclub, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, actually,” Fahjoth started, but Ribyna didn’t seem to be paying attention. She had already set off, dragging Fahjoth along with her and steering him over the bridge, going at a deliberately relaxed pace so as not to attract the attention of the patrolling guards.

“Yeah, I can show you where that is. Come on, it’s just over here.”

The twins walked in silence for the remainder of the short trip, and only once they reached the cornerclub and slipped inside did Ribyna finally let go of Fahjoth. “Oh, thank the gods for that. I was hoping to be back here before she noticed — you proper fucked that up for me, Fahji boy!”

“Ribyna, what the fuck’s going on?” Fahjoth started in bewilderment. Ribyna dropped her hood, staring up at Fahjoth with a small grin.

“I can explain. But first of all, I think I owe you a hug, don't I?”

“Damn right you do!” Fahjoth agreed, grabbing his sibling and pulling her into another tight embrace, one which she didn’t pull away from this time. For the first time in many weeks, Fahjoth felt at peace. To discover that his sibling was still alive, and to be reunited at last as free people filled him with complete and utter joy.

After a few moments they pulled away, and Ribyna gestured for him to accompany her as she made her way through the halls and down the stairs of the cornerclub. Fahjoth followed suit, and she led him down to a dimly lit room which he surveyed with interest; several tables and chairs were spread throughout and an older man stood at the bar, wiping down the surface with a cloth. The cornerclub’s patrons sat or stood with their drinks, all of them eyeing Fahjoth as he entered the room with either suspicion or curiosity or a combination of the two.

Ribyna sat down at a nearby table and Fahjoth followed suit, already opening his mouth and chattering away. “I honest to the gods thought you were dead, Beebs. How did you end up here, of all places? And...” He dropped his voice to utter the next question. “Did you really steal those diamonds?”

Ribyna shrugged. “I’m working.”

”Working? What kind of job has you running around robbing people?”

“Don’t go mad, alright? But I joined the Thieves Guild.”

“You what—?” Fahjoth leaned across the table, his voice a low hiss. “Haven’t you had enough crime for one lifetime?”

“Well, I had to make some coin somehow!” Ribyna dismissed Fahjoth’s protests with a wave of her hand. “Anyway! You wanted to know how I got here? Well, when they took me from my cell, I thought that was it, y’know? I thought I was gonna die. Then they put me on a carriage, and then a boat, and then I ended up here. Well, in Seyda Neen.”

Ribyna’s story was sounding ominously familiar. “And then what?” Fahjoth prompted her.

“Well, then they told me I had to be recorded at the office. They asked for my details, and get this... they asked if I was you.”

Fahjoth blinked, baffled. “You what?”

“Yeah, I know right? I know we’re twins but we don’t look that similar, for fuck’s sake. Anyway, they said I was the wrong prisoner — which was just fucking lovely — and they were gonna send me back to Cyrodiil. Well, I wasn’t having that, so I legged it. Makes sense that they finally hauled you over here as well.”

Fahjoth was silent for a few seconds as he mulled over Ribyna’s tale. “That’s mad,” he said eventually. “So it was just a big mixup?”

“Yup. So I suppose, in a way, I owe you my life!” Ribyna flashed him a grin from across the table. “Maybe one day I’ll pay you back for that.”

“Well, you can start by buying me a drink,” Fahjoth groaned. “I’m knackered.”

“Yeah, you look it,” Ribyna agreed grimly. “You got anywhere to stay?”

“Not yet,” Fahjoth admitted. “But I’ve got to find someone. Bloke called Caius Cosades. I need to give some stuff to him.”

Ribyna raised a brow. “So that’s what this whole thing is about? They pulled you out of prison just so that you can be an errand boy?”

“Maybe. Nobody’s told me fuck all,” Fahjoth huffed. Now that he was feeling relatively comfortable, he was ready to vent his frustrations. “I’ve just been told what to do and sent on my way. I’m so confused! And apparently, these orders have come from the Emperor himself. He’s the one who dumped me here — well, the both of us, technically.”

“Bastard. Well, I s’pose we shouldn’t complain too much,” Ribyna reasoned. “If he hadn’t, I’d probably be dead by now.”

“That’s true. I’m just...” Fahjoth waved a hand in exasperation. “I just wish someone would explain to me why I’ve been sent here. Surely anyone could be Caius Cosade’s delivery boy.”

“Aww, don’t put yourself down, Fahji, I’ll bet you’re a great little delivery boy,” Ribyna teased with a wicked grin. “Who is this Caius fella, anyway? I’ve never heard of him.”

“Well, I was hoping you’d be able to tell me. D’you know who might know where to find him?”

“Have you tried Bacolus?”

“I— you know I haven’t, I’ve only just got here.”

Ribyna pouted in thought. “Huh... oh yeah. Well, maybe try asking him — he’s the owner, he should know. Bacolus Closcius. He knows everything else that goes on around here. He’s probably upstairs.”

“Alright. Cheers, Beebs. I’ll do that.” Fahjoth dragged himself to his feet as Ribyna did the same. He didn’t hesitate to pull her into another hug, which she gladly returned in kind. “Gods, it’s good to see you again.”

“Likewise, bro.” Ribyna pulled back, giving him a hearty clap on the shoulder. “I’ll be here if you need me, alright? And I’ll get you that drink, too. You’ll have to fill me in about this Caius bloke!”

“I will!” Fahjoth promised, constantly looking over his shoulder and waving at Ribyna as he departed. He was reluctant to leave her again so soon, but the knowledge that she was there and very much alive reassured him immensely. Besides, it was already late — he should at least try to find Caius Cosades before nightfall. “See you!”

“See you later.”

———————————————

As Fahjoth left the cornerclub there was still a thin veil of mist hovering over Balmora, but the sky was almost completely dark now, and the light breeze that slipped between buildings brought with it a slightly bitter chill. The directions given to him by Bacolus Closcius were relatively straightforward to follow, and for that Fahjoth was relieved. All the walking he’d already done today — as well as the violent collision with Ribyna that had knocked him off his feet — had left him aching and desperate to finally find somewhere to settle for the night.

But as he reached what he assumed to be Caius Cosade’s abode, he suddenly stopped, feeling as though he had been punched in the gut. He recognised that tiny house, sitting so nonchalantly at the end of the street. How could he not? Though it had been well over a decade since he last clapped eyes on it, it was unmistakably the same house that he and Ribyna had grown up in. Fahjoth was motionless as he was suddenly bombarded by an onslaught of resurfacing memories.

“Dad, can we go down to the river again today?”

“Hmm... ah, why not. Let me finish brushing your sister’s hair first, then I’ll have to do yours.”

“Nooo!”

“Fahjoth, we have to, it looks like something a guar coughed up. Right, come here!”

“No! You can’t catch me!”

“Haha! Maybe not, but I know someone who can. Get him, Ribyna!”

After taking a moment to recover himself, Fahjoth raised a hand and rapped his knuckles against the dense wooden door. For a few moments there was no response, and in the silence that followed Fahjoth began to wonder if he had tried the right house after all. But then came the sound of a muffled lock clicking and the door was cracked open an inch, and he took that as his cue to enter, cautiously pushing it open and stepping inside.

Fahjoth was yet again thrown a curveball, freezing for a few seconds as he was halfway over the threshold and quickly averting his eyes. What was it with Morrowind throwing buff, shirtless men at him every few hours? But the man in question, who seemed completely unabashed, ushered him inside and closed the door after him.

“Sorry— sorry for walking in on you,” Fahjoth began to babble, embarrassed. “I can come back later, or tomorrow—!”

But the balding Imperial silenced him with a single wave of his hand. “Nevermind that. Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

As he scanned the room for a distraction, Fahjoth began to notice what kind of state it was in. Books and empty bottles littered the floor, and even in the low light of the lantern on the table, he could see something very suspiciously pale and grainy in a bowl sitting next to it. Fahjoth grimaced; this surely couldn’t be the right man. Not who the Emperor had sent him to Morrowind to find...

“Sorry,” he apologised again. “I was looking for a man called Caius Cosades. I was told to report to him.”

To his immense surprise, the man folded his arms and nodded. “Yes, I’m Caius Cosades. Who told you to report to me?”

Once again, Fahjoth was floored. His eyes darted once more around the room, taking in the sheer mess he was faced with, which said more than enough about its occupant. Then, finally, his gaze returned to the man — Caius Cosades himself. Why in Oblivion had he been sent to report to an old skooma addict?

“I’ve... I’ve got something for you,” Fahjoth mumbled, holding out the package he had been entrusted with. He was still somewhat hesitant to believe that the man he was looking at was indeed Cosades, but what was he supposed to do? Argue with the man over his own identity? That would go down well.

Cosades took the package, shooting Fahjoth a brief squint before turning his back and busying himself with inspecting and opening the package. Fahjoth waited, wringing his hands and feeling almost afraid to so much as breathe in this cramped, cluttered room; quite frankly, despite being much older, Cosades looked as if he could easily break Fahjoth’s neck, and considering the amount of alcohol and skooma lying around he couldn’t completely discount this possibility. So he waited, until at last Cosades turned back, his expression stern.

“Very interesting. So. You’re Fahjoth Vetharys, correct?”

“Yessir.”

Cosades waved a scrap of parchment as he spoke. “It says here the Emperor wants me to make you a Novice in the Blades. And that means following my orders. Are you ready to follow my orders, Fahjoth?”

“The Blades...?” Fahjoth had a feeling he already knew exactly what the Blades were, but he had to be sure. But Cosades’ response confirmed his suspicions.

“We're spies. We're the Emperor's hidden eyes and ears in the provinces. We watch the Emperor's enemies. We look for opportunities. We make reports. And, when the Emperor commands, we obey. Now... Are you ready to join the Blades and follow my orders, as the Emperor commands?”

“Right…” Fahjoth dropped his gaze to the ground, his brows furrowed in a deep frown. So not only had he been released from prison and sent to another province, but he was expected to join what was — by the sounds of it — the ranks of the Emperor’s top-secret, elite agents? Fahjoth, a Dunmer who could barely read, had spent six years in prison and had no specialist training or magical ability?

Fahjoth tried to put into words how ridiculous this seemed, how incredibly outlandish the concept of recruiting him to the Blades really was, but instead, infuriatingly, what came out of his mouth was “Yessir.”

“Excellent. Welcome to the service, Novice Fahjoth. Now you belong to the Blades. I’m sure you and I will be friends in no time. You can sleep here if you need to rest, but leave my personal stuff alone unless I say otherwise.”

The look on Fahjoth’s face said more than enough, and Cosades was quick to notice. “You’ve got questions, then? Let’s hear it.”

Fahjoth nodded, clearing his throat to gather his nerves before he spoke. “Yeah, um... I just... Why?” He struggled to hide the frustration he felt now, and winced as he heard it creep into his voice. “Why have I been sent here, and why am I joining the Blades? I don’t mean to sound rude, sir, but nobody’s told me nothing at all since I got here. I’m not... I don’t have any real strengths or skills or anything like that. I’m really just... nobody.”

“All in good time, Novice. First of all, we should get you settled before we start on your orders.” Cosades paused to prop open a strongbox on the shelf behind him, from which he fished out a rather fat coinpurse and tossed it over to Fahjoth, who struggled to catch it without dropping it. The sudden weight was surprising, and Fahjoth felt his stomach lurch as Cosades went on. “First thing, pilgrim. You're new. And you look it. Here's 200 drakes to get yourself a decent weapon. Or armor. Or a spell. Or whatever it is you feel most comfortable with.” He stopped again to evaluate Fahjoth, eyeing him from head to foot with a frown. “Get some proper food in you as well, you’ll no doubt need to be in top physical condition for some of the tasks you’re given.”

The slight insult that came from Cosades’ insinuation was completely overridden by Fahjoth’s sheer amazement at the amount of gold he now held in his hands. 200?! That was more gold than he’d ever laid eyes upon in his entire life!

“Thank you, sir,” Fahjoth said, still in a state of disbelief following the night’s events and developments.

“Secondly, you’ll need a cover identity,” Cosades continued. “Around here, ‘freelance adventurer’ is a common profession, believe it or not. Or, you can join a guild for some proper work. Sign on with the Fighters Guild, or Mages Guild, or Imperial cult, or Imperial legion, and gain skill and experience. Or go out on your own, look for freelance work, or trouble. What you do makes no odds to me, as long as you come back in one piece with more experience than you went out with. When you're ready, I'll have real orders for you." He stepped forward, closing the gap between them and clapping Fahjoth rather forcefully on the shoulder. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Vetharys. But first of all, you should get some rest. Like I mentioned, you’re welcome to stay here, as long as you don’t touch my stuff.”

“Alright,” Fahjoth replied with haste, more than willing to agree to that. Cosades intimidated him slightly, though he would never admit that to anybody — least of all Ribyna, who would no doubt have had a field day teasing him about it. How he was ever going to explain any of this to her remained to be seen, but he decided to ponder that tomorrow; the itching of his eyes reminded him of how desperate he was for a nap. “If you don’t mind, sir, I’m gonna try and get some sleep then. Been a... bit of a long day, y’know?”

“Certainly. Here.” Cosades grabbed some of the sheets and pillows from his bed, tossing them over to Fahjoth — again, without any warning, leaving Fahjoth to scramble desperately to catch them all. “It’s not much I’m afraid, but it’ll do for now.”

“Course, sir. Thanks.” Though he was still feeling rather apprehensive as he arranged his new bed on the floor in the corner of the room, Fahjoth was in deep reflection as he bid his new boss goodnight and settled down to sleep. Although things weren’t much clearer now compared to when he had first been taken from the Imperial Prison, he had a lot to be thankful for; his twin was alive and well, and on top of being a free man, Fahjoth now also had a job, an allowance of gold and a roof over his head — a far cry from the life he used to live, even before his six-year-long incarceration. With this in mind, his last thought before he drifted off was to just take each day as it came — no matter how much more confusion or how many surprises may yet lay ahead.

#oc: fahjoth #oc: ribyna #caius cosades #tes #tes fic #morrowind #dunmer #dunmer oc #nerevarine #elder scrolls #elder scrolls fanfiction #tes iii: morrowind

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lake-arrius-caverns · 4 years ago

Text

Nerevarine Rising

Chapter 5: Breaking Point

happy valentines <3 here’s a slower-paced lowkey fluffy chapter for the occasion

summary After his disastrous mission to Arkngthand, Fahjoth's confidence has taken a kicking and his mood has hit rock bottom. Can he find the courage to face up to his next task?

content warnings none

tag list @boulderfall-cave , @padomaicocean (lmk if you’d like to be added!)

read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍

:: First :: || << Previous << || >> Next >> || :: Masterpost ::

—————————————————————————————

Antabolis, at least, had been grateful for Fahjoth’s delivery. He had taken the cube with enthusiasm and offered for Fahjoth to return at a later time, when Antabolis may be able to give him a key to delve deeper into Arkngthand. Fahjoth had politely declined; the last thing he wanted to do was return there anytime soon. In fact, he would die happy if he never had to go near another Dwemer ruin ever again.

He didn’t bother to attempt to read the notes that Antabolis gave him, nor was he even listening much to what Antabolis was saying. He was desperate to return to his bed and collapse into it, and in his current state of feeling constant aches and pains he found that he couldn’t care less about Sixth House or Nerevarine cults, whatever they were.

By the time Antabolis finally bade him farewell, Fahjoth felt just about ready to drop. I’ve just got to get back to Cosades’, he told himself as he staggered through Balmora’s quiet streets under the dusty cinnamon sky, clutching Antabolis’ papers tightly in hand. As he paused to look up and watch the first stars begin to twinkle dully from behind the light evening mist, Fahjoth supposed he would have to meet Ribyna for that drink tomorrow instead. Finally, he reached Cosades’ house and let himself in.

Cosades was sitting at his table, drink in hand as he perused the pages of a dusty old tome. He glanced up as Fahjoth entered, raising a brow at the state he turned up in, but offering no comment on it. Wordlessly, Fahjoth approached and passed the papers over to Cosades, already staring longingly over at his bed on the floor of the corner of the room.

“These notes are from Hasphat Antabolis? Excellent. I trust he didn't work you too hard for them,” Cosades said, though the look on his face as he surveyed Fahjoth confirmed that he already knew the answer. As Fahjoth began to remove his armour, he couldn’t help but grimace at the poor condition it was in now; he would definitely need to take it to be repaired tomorrow.

But as he was about to get himself settled for the night, Cosades spoke up.

“I'll look these over in more detail later, but now, I have some new orders for you," he announced. Fahjoth felt his heart sink.

Already? After casting one more glance towards his bed, he turned his attention back to Cosades and nodded to signify that he was listening.

“I've glanced at Hasphat Antabolis' notes,” Cosades continued, a mild frown on his face. “They cover the Sixth House admirably, but not the Nerevarine cult. So. I’m going to need you to pay a visit to someone who can fill in the gaps. Hop on over to the Mages Guild and get Sharn gra-Muzgob to tell you what she knows about the Nerevarine. She'll have some silly errand for you, but do what she asks. And report back when she's given you the information.”

For a few seconds, Fahjoth was struck dumb. There was a searing heat growing in his chest, one where he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to scream or break down and cry, but instead he swallowed and jerked his head in a nod. “Now, sir?”

“Better had,” Cosades agreed, “before it gets too late. She won’t thank you for that.”

“Right.” Fahjoth’s voice was flat and somewhat husky in his attempt to keep his emotions bottled up, and he scarcely said goodbye to Cosades before he turned and strode back outside into the chilly dusk air. There was a lump in his throat as he walked, and though he knew it was exacerbated by his exhaustion, Cosades giving him yet more orders had been a crushing blow. All of his doubts came roaring back, playing on his mind and reminding him that he wasn’t good enough, and he certainly couldn’t keep up with the tasks he had been given. Yet, what choice did he have but to try? Fahjoth began to wonder whether this job would be the death of him as he paced onwards to the Mages Guild, bracing himself to be given a task that would nearly get him killed a second time.

—————————————————————————————

Sure enough, the irritable Orc that Fahjoth encountered in the depths of the Mages Guild had not given up her knowledge freely. In return for the information Cosades was seeking, Sharn gra-Muzgob ordered Fahjoth to collect a skull from an ancestral tomb, requiring him to retrace his steps back towards Seyda Neen.

While in theory this didn’t sound too taxing, Fahjoth was more than wary of what he might discover in an ancestral tomb. The stories he’d heard from the locals had been more than enough to sow worries into his mind; instead of crumbling ruins and murderous thugs, curses and ghosts and the walking dead would be the hurdles he would have to overcome this time, which had been all but confirmed by the enchanted sword that gra-Muzgob had lent him for the errand.

Fahjoth felt almost numb at this point. He was terrified, of course he was, but he was too physically, mentally, and emotionally drained to deal with it. He could barely even spare the energy to think about what lay ahead, nevermind try to process his feelings towards it. He paused as he reached the southernmost bridge spanning the Odai River, turned his gaze up to the stars, now set against a deep indigo sky, and wondered whether it was too late to meet Ribyna for that drink. Well, there was no harm in checking in. So he changed direction, heading for the South Wall Cornerclub rather than returning to Cosades’. Even if he couldn’t find Ribyna, perhaps a drink would help to steady his nerves.

As he wandered down to the bottom floor, sure enough, he spotted a familiar figure nursing a bottle at an otherwise empty table in the corner of the room and made a beeline for them. Ribyna looked up as Fahjoth approached, initially grinning at the sight of her twin, but once she fully registered the mess that he was in her face fell into an aghast gape instead.

“What the fuck happened to you?!” she exclaimed without so much as a greeting beforehand. Fahjoth sighed as he parked himself down at the table, dropping his head on his hands and preparing himself to recount the long, miserable tale.

“So then I got back to the bridge, and there’s this old man who’s just stood there, and for no reason he just goes fucking nuts and attacks me,” he concluded once he had covered the rest. “Conjured a fucking skeleton and everything. I fell down the... the chasm thing, then when I got back up, I just legged it.”

“Holy shit...” Ribyna mumbled, staring at Fahjoth in astonishment. “Had a hell of a day then, didn’t you?”

“That barely even begins to describe it,” he scoffed. “I feel like I’d have had an easier time if I just went to Oblivion and back.”

To Fahjoth’s shock, Ribyna bit her lip, evidently trying to hide a grin. That couldn’t have been further from the reaction he had been expecting. “What?” he asked, a wary frown on his face.

Ribyna hesitated, as though struggling with whether to speak up or not, but after a moment of pause she blurted it out. “Oh come on, all that shit happening— it’s a bit funny!”

“Funny?”

At once, any hint of laughter on Ribyna’s face vanished, as Fahjoth felt a spark of anger ignite in his chest.

“I nearly fucking died today and you think it’s funny?!”

“I never said that—!” Ribyna protested, but Fahjoth was already livid. All of the frustration, shame, and terror he had felt that day had compounded with relentless exhaustion, and now an intense stab of hurt from Ribyna’s reaction had been enough to light the fuse.

“But it’s funny, you said!” Fahjoth snapped, struggling to force himself to remain seated at the table as he ranted at his sibling, while his voice rose in volume and attracted more than a few stares from the other punters. “It’s funny that I nearly died, it’s funny that I couldn’t handle the one job I was given, it’s funny that it went so fucking tits-up and you probably think it’s funny that I’ve got to go back out and do the same thing, and probably get myself actually killed this time!”

“Fahjoth—” Ribyna started, shuffling her chair around so that she was sitting beside him, but Fahjoth cut her off.

“‘Cause— ‘cause that’s what’s gonna happen! I’m gonna do a ‘favour’ for someone, maybe not this one, but maybe the next time, or the one after that, but— sooner or later it’s gonna kill me!” The lump in his throat had firmly lodged into place, and Fahjoth felt his eyes burn as tears threatened to spill. He was less enraged now; all he felt was distress and fear, flooding his chest with a dull, unyielding ache.

“I can’t keep up with it, Beebs,” he choked, his voice breaking and his face crumpling as he finally began to cry. “I can’t do this.”

He dropped his face into his hands, his vision blurry with tears as his shoulders began to shake with suppressed sobs, but seconds later he felt himself being pulled into a tight embrace which he did not try to resist.

“Hey, hey, come on,” Ribyna said, her voice low and soothing as she rested her chin on the top of his head. “You’re okay. Deep breaths.”

As he struggled to get his erratic breathing back under control, Fahjoth was much too choked up to speak, so he simply remained silent with his head leaning on Ribyna’s shoulder. Ribyna continued to talk, hugging him tightly and gently rubbing his shoulder all the while. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh at you,” she apologised. “It’s just... well, it’s just your fucking luck, innit? Only you could end up dealing with that much bullshit in one go.”

Fahjoth managed a watery chuckle at that. “They say guarshit, here.”

“Ooh, well, pardon my Cyrodiilic,” Ribyna jeered, putting on the poshest accent she could muster. The tiny laugh that his sibling had inspired granted him enough of a mood boost that Fahjoth finally felt calm enough to sit up again, though the churning of apprehension in his gut remained and tears still slipped from his eyes on occasion.

“I’m sorry as well,” he said at last, glancing over at Ribyna with regret. “I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.”

Ribyna waved his apology aside with a flick of her hand. “Don’t worry about it. Right, let’s backtrack a bit.” She leaned on her elbows, staring up at Fahjoth with a light frown. “What d’you mean, you’ve got to go and do the same thing?”

Fahjoth sighed, feeling a knot of trepidation settle in his chest once more as he anticipated the task ahead. “Basically what I said,” he explained. “I’ve got to do a favour for someone else in exchange for information. Only this favour involves me stealing a skull from an ancestral tomb down by Seyda Neen.”

“Yikes...” Ribyna lapsed into thoughtful silence, her gaze falling on Fahjoth’s hands for a moment before she got to her feet. “Hold that thought,” she said, trotting off towards the bar. Fahjoth watched with idle interest until Ribyna returned, clutching two bottles under one arm and a plain cup and cloth in the other. She returned to her seat and placed the goods down on the table, pushing one of the bottles towards Fahjoth as she settled. “Here’s that drink I owed you. Mazte. It’s alright, give it a try.”

After giving the bottle a curious sniff, he threw caution to the wind and knocked back a mouthful — only to immediately cough as the unexpectedly spicy aroma overwhelmed his senses. But as he swallowed, the liquid filled his chest with a potent heat that seemed to spread all the way down to his toes, temporarily washing away all of what ailed him in an instant. “Fucking hell,” he remarked, “that’s not bad at all.”

“Innit?” Once Fahjoth had put his bottle down, Ribyna reached over and pulled one of his hands towards her. She squinted as she examined his skinned knuckles, her brows furrowing into a consternated frown, and Fahjoth felt a twinge of embarrassment that he hadn’t cleaned the blood off before now. He watched as she dipped the cloth into the cup — which turned out to be filled with water — and dabbed it gently but firmly onto his hand. Fahjoth grit his teeth and breathed hard through his nose as each brush of the fabric against the tender skin incited a sharp stinging sensation, but he kept quiet as Ribyna spoke. “Anyway, if what you said is true, then getting away with just fucked up knuckles seems like a bit of a result to me.”

“I suppose...” Fahjoth admitted. “I’m pretty sure I just got lucky, though. I mean, what if I come across something worse next time? What if I’m not lucky enough?”

“Fahji, you’ve just had a hell of a bad day,” Ribyna pointed out. “Look, I’m sure it won’t be so bad next time. Live and learn and all that. You’ll be fine.”

Fahjoth could feel his anxieties beginning to grow again and tried to mentally take a step back, as the last thing he wanted was to break down in tears for a second time that night. “I really don’t think I can do it, Beebs, but... I don’t even know what’ll happen if I try to pull out. What if they send me back to prison? And—...”

“And?”

Feeling very self-conscious, his cheeks flushed slightly as he prepared for his next confession. “And I really wanted to try and make this work. It’s a real opportunity, innit? This could be our only chance of ever doing well for ourselves.” He paused, nodding towards Ribyna. “Not that you seem to be having any trouble with that, mind...”

Ribyna was quiet for a moment, the tip of her tongue peeking out from between her lips as she concentrated on cleaning up Fahjoth’s hands, finishing the first and then moving onto the other. Finally, once she was satisfied, she let go and picked up her bottle instead, sipping some mazte before responding to Fahjoth. “Are there any rules about going by yourself?”

“Uh... no, I don’t think so,” Fahjoth replied, perplexed by the sudden change of subject. “Why?”

“Then there’s the answer,” Ribyna replied, grinning at Fahjoth from over her mazte. “I’ll go with you!”

“What?”

“I’ll go with you,” Ribyna repeated, a little more insistently this time. “With two of us, there’ll be a way smaller chance for you to... y’know... die. Or get fucked over in general.”

Fahjoth’s mouth fell open slightly at Ribyna’s offer. “Are you sure, Beebs? It... it probably won’t be easy. I dunno what we’ll find in there.”

“Course I’m sure. As if I’m gonna risk letting my brother go and get himself killed,” she scoffed. “That’s my job, innit?”

Fahjoth stared at Ribyna in disbelief for a moment or two, before he began to laugh with sheer relief. “Fuck, you’re a lifesaver. Right, are you ready to go?”

“What, now?” Ribyna exclaimed, and it was her turn to glare incredulously at Fahjoth. “A, I haven’t even finished my drink, and B, you need to rest. We’re not going anywhere until tomorrow at the earliest. Those are my terms.”

Fahjoth opened his mouth to protest, but Ribyna cut him off. “Seriously, what’s the rush? Travelling at night isn’t a great idea even when you’re in perfect condition. And like I said, you need to rest, you look like you’re about to keel over any second. If Cosades has got a problem with that, tell him to take it up with me!”

“I’m sure he’d be quaking in his boots,” Fahjoth quipped, but he couldn’t argue with Ribyna’s logic. “Since when has my little nuisance been so sensible?”

“You know you’re in trouble when you’re calling me sensible,” Ribyna snorted. As she watched Fahjoth rise to his feet, she seemed prepared to spring up at any moment. “D’you need a hand getting back to Cosades’?”

“Nah, I think I’ll be alright,” Fahjoth replied, wincing as he gingerly put weight back on his feet, his sore muscles already stiff from the brief period of inactivity. He leaned down and pulled Ribyna into a tight hug once again. “I’ll come get you tomorrow, then? Once I’ve got myself sorted out. And... thanks, Beebs. For everything.”

Ribyna patted Fahjoth bracingly on the back as she returned a loving squeeze. “Don’t mention it. Now go get some sleep, dickhead!”

Taking his mazte with a laugh, Fahjoth waved once more to Ribyna before ascending the cornerclub’s stairs and ambling out into the clear night. Every inch of him still ached something fierce, but Fahjoth didn’t mind as much now, uplifted by the thought that whatever lay ahead, he didn’t have to face it alone.

#oc: fahjoth #oc: ribyna #caius cosades #tes #tes fic #morrowind #dunmer #dunmer oc #nerevarine #elder scrolls #elder scrolls fanfiction #tes iii: morrowind

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lake-arrius-caverns · 4 years ago

Text

Nerevarine Rising

Chapter 8: Life Lessons

summary En route to Vivec City, the twins experience a couple of strange encounters. Ribyna hits Fahjoth with some cold, hard facts.

content warnings uh very minor character death ig

tag list @boulderfall-cave , @padomaicocean (lmk if you’d like to be added!)

read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍

:: First :: || << Previous << || >> Next >> || :: Masterpost ::

—————————————————————————————

If Fahjoth had been hoping for a calm, relaxing stroll to Vivec City, he was to be sorely let down. Granted, it did help to take his mind off of his unsettling encounter with the Dunmer, who Fahjoth had come to realise was one of the sleeper agents that Cosades had discussed with him not an hour prior. Fahjoth tried to remind himself that he was lucky to have escaped unscathed, but he would surely need to discuss it with Cosades once he and Ribyna returned to Balmora.

The first of the day’s unsettling events started just after the twins passed by Seyda Neen, when the quiet of the lazy afternoon was pierced by a horrendous scream. After jolting to a stop they both began to search for the source, without success until Fahjoth happened to look to the sky.

“Holy shit—!” he gasped, grabbing Ribyna by the arm and yanking her along as he stumbled back to a safe distance. The shrieking continued, growing louder and louder until it was abruptly cut off by the body of a Bosmer striking the dusty road at tremendous velocity. Fahjoth couldn’t tear his eyes away as the skull collided with the ground and split open on impact with a sickening crack.

The Bosmer bounced and rolled after landing, carried along by the momentum from the fall before finally coming to a stop where the twins had been standing mere seconds before. Within seconds, a stark red stain had begun to pool out around his head, and that coupled with the expression of agonised terror frozen on the now very dead Bosmer’s face made Fahjoth feel severely ill.

“Fucking— gods alive…” Fahjoth breathed, drawing his hands up to cover his mouth in horror. Silence fell over the scene for a few seconds during which nobody moved, with both twins instead staring at the broken body lying prone and twisted on the path in front of them. Then, as Ribyna took a hesitant step forward and crouched down beside the body, Fahjoth shook his head in dismay.

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do, Beebs—” he started, before his voice died in his throat as he realised exactly what Ribyna was doing. He had been under the assumption that she was attempting to help, to see if there was anything that could be done for the unfortunate fellow, but then he came to realise that he had been sorely mistaken once he noticed Ribyna going through his pockets.

“Ooh, this looks fancy, don’t it?” Ribyna remarked, holding up an oddly elongated yellow hat with a fur-lined brim. Fahjoth was speechless, but as she began to rummage through the Bosmer’s belongings once more, he finally found his voice.

“Ribyna, what the fuck?!”

Ribyna whipped around, a picture of wide-eyed innocence, looking surprised to see Fahjoth so angry. He wasn’t sure whether that made him feel more or less incensed. “What?”

“What d’you mean, ‘what’?! You can’t just—” He gestured vaguely to the body, almost too outraged to splutter his words out. “You can’t just... take shit from someone who’s just died! I bet the body’s still fucking warm, for gods’ sakes!”

With a thoughtful expression, Ribyna reached out again and pressed her fingers against the Bosmer’s crumpled chest. With a petulant look on her face, she turned back to face Fahjoth again. “Okay, it is, but that’s besides the point,” Ribyna said stubbornly. “Look, it’s all about the hustle, bro. If he’s got valuables, we can sell them! That’s how this shit works!”

“Well, it shouldn’t be!” Fahjoth spat. “It’s disgusting! It’s wrong!”

Ribyna didn’t rise to Fahjoth’s chastising, but she did narrow her eyes and stare at him coolly, even after he’d finished. “Look, you need to get used to this kind of shit,” she warned, pointing a finger up at Fahjoth accusingly. “This is what we have to do to get by sometimes. In case you hadn’t noticed, we don’t have too many friends here. So you might as well get off your high horse ‘cause it won’t do you any fucking good here.” She turned back to the corpse, continuing to loot the Bosmer of everything valuable that he carried, so that Fahjoth finally had to look away out of revulsion. “And that goes for people, too. If anyone fucks with you, you need to fuck with them back. You’re too bloody... soft-hearted for your own good, you.”

With a heavy scowl, Fahjoth shook his head. He knew exactly what she was referring to; his catastrophic trip to Arkngthand, which was the last thing he needed to be reminded of. The indignation burned in his chest, and he spared Ribyna one more glance before walking around the corpse and skulking along down the road again, hands in pockets and shoulders tense. “Whatever. Catch up to me when you’re done, I’m not hanging around to watch this.”

“Fine. Will do,” Ribyna replied as Fahjoth stormed off. Even from a distance, he could pick up on the vexation lacing her tone.

Once he was alone with his thoughts, Fahjoth slowed his pace and began to reflect on the argument. Guilt started to gnaw at his gut over snapping at his twin and leaving her on her own, but more than that, he was hit by a wave of doubt. Her harsh words had been hurtful, but perhaps they were truthful, too.

Maybe she’s right, he thought sullenly, kicking a stone in his path and watching it ricochet along the road. Maybe he did need to toughen up…

The stone finally rolled to a stop, and Fahjoth was surprised to see it land in someone’s long shadow. A Dunmer, donning a Bonemold cuirass and boots, stood in the middle of the road, his rich auburn hair gleaming in the low sunlight. He faced Fahjoth directly, red eyes fixed on him with the ghost of a smile on his angular features.

Fahjoth offered a smile in return as he changed direction to walk around him; but the stranger stood to the side simultaneously, blocking the road and causing Fahjoth to abruptly stop. Perhaps that had been an accident, he reasoned. So Fahjoth gave an awkwardly apologetic laugh and tried again, only to have the Dunmer once again sidestep and stand in his way.

That couldn’t have been an accident. It was clear now that he was blocking Fahjoth’s path on purpose.

“Could you move, please, mate?” Fahjoth asked, keeping his tone polite despite the mild annoyance he felt. “You’re sort of in my way.”

“Afraid not, friend,” the Dunmer responded, his voice unusually melodic and chipper. “Allow me to introduce myself! It is I, Nels Llendo.”

“Right...” Fahjoth was baffled. “Can I help you, then? I’ve kind of got somewhere to be.”

The Dunmer, Nels Llendo, simply folded his arms and continued to smile that charming yet unsettling smile. “Ah... I see you have not heard of me,” he said softly. “A shame. Well, no need to tremble in fear. Nels Llendo is a reasonable man, hardly the cutthroat some would make me out to be. To cut to the chase, I offer you a fair and healthy proposition.”

A cutthroat? Fahjoth frowned, staring at Nels in disbelief while he stood motionless, rooted to the spot. Was this a robbery? He wasn’t feeling very threatened by Nels’ friendly disposition, but then his eyes fell on the gleam of a sword’s hilt hanging at his waist. With trepidation, he dared to ask, “What proposition?”

“A very simple proposition, actually,” Nels replied. “You will give me fifty septims, and in return, you will be allowed to continue safely on your journey. Nels Llendo gives you his word as a gentleman that, once our transaction has taken place, you have nothing to fear from me. What say you?”

And there it was. Trying not to let his apprehension show in his body language or voice, Fahjoth stood his ground. “No way. I’m not just gonna hand over my gold to you, mate.”

Nels shook his head, tutting in a very exaggerated show of disappointment. “I fear you are making an unwise decision, my friend. But, so be it... though I do hate to soil my clothes with your blood. No matter. Such is the life of Nels Llendo.” Before Fahjoth could respond, Nels had whipped his sword out from its sheath and held it aloft, the enchanted blade gleaming with a flaming red sheen. “You have made the wrong choice, outlander.”

As Fahjoth took a hasty step backwards and reached for his own blade, very conscious of Nels already advancing on him, the sound of approaching footsteps and a voice gave both Mer pause.

“Oi!”

Once he caught sight of Ribyna marching towards them — her backpack a lot fatter than it had been when they left Balmora — Nels instantly sheathed his sword and, to Fahjoth’s surprise, sank into a low, elegant bow.

“Hello, my dear. Nels Llendo at your service.”

“Nels Llend—?” Ribyna rolled her eyes, tilting her head back and rubbing her brow. “Oh, gods...”

“Oh? My name is familiar to you?” he questioned, perhaps mistaking her irritation for apprehension. “Fear not, my dear. Nels Llendo is far from the heartless villain some have made me out to be. From one as charming and gracious as you, I would ask for but a single kiss.”

Fahjoth had to do a double-take, turning back to Nels in bewilderment. “You what?” Then his mouth fell open in outrage. “You were just about to kill me over fifty septims!”

Nels, however, paid Fahjoth no heed, his attention focused solely on Ribyna. “It would be the most precious prize I have ever solicited from a... client.”

Fahjoth was silent, looking between the two with unease. Though he would have liked nothing more than to jump in, to tell Nels in no uncertain terms to piss off and leave them alone, he did not want to risk drawing Ribyna’s ire by speaking for her. Instead he waited, and when Ribyna spoke up, it was the last thing he had been expecting to hear.

“And if I do, me and my brother can pass? You won’t touch either of us?”

Nels held up a hand, placing the other sincerely over his chest. “I give you my word.”

After a second or two of hesitation, Ribyna took a step forward. Fahjoth, with great discomfort, spoke up at last.

“Ribyna, you don’t—”

“Shut up, Fahjoth.”

Fahjoth's jaw hung open, aghast but rendered totally speechless once again as Ribyna began to approach Nels, closing the gap between them. Once she reached him, she placed her hands deliberately on each of his shoulders, the look on her face one of sheer determination.

Overcome with intense awkwardness, Fahjoth dropped his gaze — but before he could turn away completely, a sudden blur of movement caught his eye and his head snapped back up just in time to witness Ribyna thrusting her knee into Nels’ crotch, and hard.

The once cocky and self-assured bandit crumpled to the ground in an instant, a wheezing yelp of pain hissing from between gritted teeth as he was reduced to a quivering ball of pain. Fahjoth was motionless, struck dumb with astonishment.

Apparently, Ribyna wasn’t finished yet. Taking the opportunity while he was downed, Ribyna knelt beside Nels and began to go through his pockets, quickly fishing out a sizable coin purse and shoving it in her own. “Oh, and I’ll be taking this,” she announced, patting Nels roughly on the cheek. “Y’know, for compensation.” She then stood up, dusted herself off and began to head off, muttering a scathing insult under her breath as she did so. “Prick...”

Fahjoth cast one last glance at Nels, still curled up on the ground with tears streaming down his cheeks, before he turned away and trotted along in Ribyna’s wake as she strode onwards without a care in the world. He ambled along mutely beside Ribyna, occasionally throwing his twin an incredulous glance, still barely able to comprehend what had just happened. As grateful as he was for the lengths to which she would go to defend him, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Ribyna had handled the situation rather poorly. Eventually, he tentatively voiced what was on his mind.

“D’you think you might’ve gone a bit too far?”

“What?”

“I mean…” Fahjoth waved his hands vaguely and grimaced. “Knocking his bollocks in? Couldn’t we have just tried talking to him? Looked to me like he might’ve listened to you.”

Ribyna stopped in her tracks and rounded on Fahjoth with a scowl. “He was blackmailing us, Fahjoth, in case you hadn’t noticed! I didn’t want to try and reason with him, he was about five seconds from shoving his sword down your throat!... That wasn’t a euphemism, stop smirking! Anyway, he might’ve just got nasty again if I’d turned him down.”

Fahjoth quickly arranged his features back into an expression of solemn concern, though he still quietly fought to keep a straight face. “Okay, fair enough... But stealing from him as well? What if he goes to the guards?”

Ribyna scoffed. “What, him? A highwayman? If he’s as infamous as everyone reckons he is, then good luck to him is all I can say. We’ll see how seriously the guards take him from inside a prison cell.”

“Good point...”

In the quiet that followed as the pair meandered on down the southern path, Fahjoth found his thoughts wandering back onto something that he wanted to get off his chest. “By the way, I’m... I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. I was just... shocked, I suppose. But you’re right. I probably do need to wise up.”

“Yeah...” Ribyna offered Fahjoth something between a smile and a grimace. “I’m sorry as well. I didn’t mean to rag on you so hard. I only say it cause I care about you. You do know that, don’t you?”

His spirits lifted, Fahjoth turned to face Ribyna, beaming with delight. “Aww, and you call me soft-hearted?” he remarked. Ribyna faltered, flushing with embarrassment over her unintentional sentimentality.

“Don’t even start,” she growled, quickening her gait to avoid looking at Fahjoth in a futile attempt at saving face. “Shut up, or else you’ll go the same way as our good friend Mr Llendo.”

Fahjoth laughed as Ribyna rushed on past, jogging on ahead a short distance until she stopped at a signpost on the side of the road a few yards down the path. But as she squinted to peer at the weather-worn wood, Fahjoth slowed his pace and came to a stop a few metres behind.

“Come on, I think we’re nearly there—“ Noting Fahjoth’s distance, Ribyna stopped mid-sentence and turned to look at him quizzically. Fahjoth struggled to hide a grin as he instead wore a deliberately thoughtful expression.

“What?”

“Well, it’s just... I thought he was quite handsome, personally. I’d’ve kissed him!”

Ribyna groaned in exasperation, rolling her eyes and trying to hold back a smile. “You would!” she scoffed, turning away and continuing on her way down the road, to where Vivec City awaited them through the evening mist. “Shame he didn’t ask, then. Maybe I should’ve tried to set you two up instead of kneeing him in the nuts.”

“At least you’ll know for next time!” Fahjoth laughed. As he hastened to catch up with Ribyna, he raised a hand to shield his eyes against the peachy glare of the sun low on the horizon, its vibrant fire in the sky signalling that the moons and stars would soon take its place.

#oc: fahjoth #oc: ribyna #tes #tes fic #morrowind #dunmer #dunmer oc #nerevarine #elder scrolls #elder scrolls fanfic #tes iii: morrowind

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lake-arrius-caverns · 5 years ago

Text

Prologue - pt 3

content warnings strong language

ik im a bit late with this one, writers block got me hard 😔

next coming hopefully Sunday? lol

read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍

:: First :: || << Previous << || >> Next >> || :: Masterpost ::

— — — — — — — — — —

Fahjoth’s mood was as dull as the weather as he hastily returned to the Waterfront, completely drenched from head to toe as a result of the sudden onslaught of rain that showed no sign of letting up anytime soon. Typical of the skies to open up while he was wandering around the Market District of the city, strolling around while trying to work through the muddled thoughts circling in his head. He had been in a dour mood when he embarked, and now it was even worse on his return.

He should have seen it coming, he reflected ruefully; the thick blanket of heavy, dark cloud overhead had not shifted since it first settled in that morning. There was bound to have been a downpour sooner or later. But Fahjoth had to get away from the Waterfront for a while, to go somewhere where he could be alone with his thoughts. And there was plenty to think about.

They should be hearing from Shadra soon enough, bringing news from the cult currently spending far too much time in the city. The problems were already apparent - within hours of their arrival, the guard patrols had increased and even the most mellow of innkeepers and traders were on edge. And yet, Fahjoth wasn’t confident that a direct confrontation would go at all as well as Cassius seemed to anticipate.

Fahjoth felt another flicker of bitterness in his chest. Cassius, in all his unrelenting stubbornness, had refused to listen to Fahjoth’s attempts to reason with him. It wasn’t the first time, but now, when it came to such an unpredictable affair, he was frustrated that Cassius had declined to even consider listening to him. Not only was it infuriating, but it was slightly hurtful as well.

So he had taken a walk in an effort to clear his mind and relax; perhaps stop by the docks on the way back and watch the boats drifting back and forth, as he and Ribyna had done with Abik so often growing up. But his plans were spoiled as he got caught in the lashing rain, ending up soaked to the skin and in an even worse mood than before. It was with some slight relief that he reached the Waterfront again, immediately spotting a welcome sight; a large tent comprised of leather and linen sheets, under which a handful of people and a dog sat. Even through the rain-haze, it was easy to identify Ribyna, Merrick and Abik, and Fahjoth didn’t hesitate to approach, immediately ducking under the shelter to join them.

“Alright, lads?” he said by way of greeting, roughly shaking his head like a wet dog and allowing a shower of droplets to come flying from his shaggy black hair. Ribyna groaned in annoyance, leaning over to protect the piece of parchment that she and Merrick were holding.

“For fuck’s sake, Fahjoth, you’re gonna ruin our map!” she complained, staring at him reproachfully. “Where’ve you been, anyway?”

“Just for a walk,” Fahjoth replied, slightly unwilling to go into detail. He managed a smile as

Pip came shuffling over to greet him, wagging her tail and poking her nose into Fahjoth’s face as she lathered her tongue over his nose. With a humorous grimace, he playfully pushed her away until she lay back down and then turned his attention back to his twin and the others. “What’ve you been up to?”

“Me and Merrick have been reading this map,” Ribyna said, puffing her chest out with pride. “I can pronounce Fana... Fanasces...” She stopped and grimaced. “Well, I could five minutes ago! I’ve forgotten now.”

“Never mind the Ayleid ruins,” Merrick interjected with a smile. “She can spell Cheydinhal now! Without needing to look.”

“Yeah!” Ribyna agreed, beaming. “See, I am getting better.” When Fahjoth didn’t offer much of a response, Ribyna reached out and prodded his shoulder. “Come on. What’s the matter?”

Again, Fahjoth didn’t respond immediately. He simply sat in silence, absently ruffling Pip’s ears and listening to the muffled crackling of the raindrops hitting the sheets overhead. “It’s just... I haven’t spoken to Cassius since... well, since we argued. I’m kind of worried about what’s gonna happen with this cult. If they don’t agree to piss off, and we do end up going to ‘deal with them’... well, I told him it could be dangerous, but he won’t even listen to me!” He winced as he heard the frustration seeping into his voice during his rant. “He never listens to me. Normally it’s fine, y’know, I can deal with it, but... this? It’s like he always knows best, even when we’ve got no idea what we could be up against. How can he possibly know for sure?”

His three companions remained silent and attentive while Fahjoth ranted, and once he was done he felt his cheeks flush warm with embarrassment. But then Abik spoke up in his usual calm, reassuring tone.

“For what it’s worth, I agree with you,” he said. “I do think we need to be more careful. A lot of people seem to agree with Cassius though. They’re gonna go along with whatever he suggests. So I reckon the only thing we can do is be there for them, whatever happens.” His dark brown eyes were pensive as he continued. “From what I’ve heard from Vyk, right now, we’ve got the advantage over them in numbers. The worst thing we could do as a group is fracture and split up.”

“Plus, it might not even come to that,” Merrick piped up, ever hopeful. “They might just leave without making a fuss. I don’t think it’s helpful to worry about something when we don’t even know what’s going to happen yet.”

Ribyna nodded enthusiastically in agreement, and Fahjoth dipped his head to the three, admittedly beginning to feel reassured. “Yeah... I suppose,” he said cautiously. “It’s just hard not to, y’know?”

“Of course. But, Fahjoth...” Abik added. “You should talk to Cassius about this too. Tell him how you feel. Communication is important.” His expression became momentarily grave. “Not to mention... if the worst does happen, you’d never forgive yourself if you two didn’t make amends. Trust me.”

Fahjoth inhaled, knowing full well that Abik was right. “Yeah... I’ll- I’ll find him later. ... I will!” he insisted, raising his palms up defensively on seeing Abik give him a knowing look. Abik merely chuckled.

“Good. I don’t like it when you kids argue,” he sighed. “We’ve got to stick together and look out for each other out here, ‘cause Talos knows no-one else will.”

“Kids?” Ribyna questioned. “We’re not that young!”

“Compared to me, you might as well be,” Abik chortled. “I’ve been here long enough that I’ve raised half of the people here. Including you lot. It’s like a family - a dysfunctional family, but a family still.”

“You can’t spell dysfunctional without fun,” Merrick chimed in, and Abik pointed at him emphatically.

“Merrick’s got it. Anyway, bottom line is, you’re all basically my kids. So for gods’ sakes, can you all just get along? That‘d be great.”

Ribyna snorted with laughter. “Hah! What, d’you want us to start calling you dad now? ‘Cause we will! Soppy old git.”

Abik laughed, though he didn’t rise to the teasing. Instead he focused on Fahjoth again. “Still worried, mate?”

Though the discussion had been a welcome distraction, Fahjoth found his mind wandering back to the troubles at hand yet again. “Yeah,” he admitted.

Before Abik could respond, Ribyna had risen to her feet. “Come on then!” she declared, loping out of the shelter and standing in the sodden grass, beckoning Fahjoth to join her. “Let’s have a match. Get some practise in for when we go to war!”

“What, now?” Fahjoth replied incredulously. “In the rain?”

“Where else?” Ribyna shot back, splaying her arms out tauntingly and raising her voice over the endless lashing of the rain against the saturated ground. “Run at me, bro!”

Dumbfounded for a moment, Fahjoth hesitated. Then, he shrugged and bounced to his feet, darting out into the torrential downpour and squaring up his twin. “Alright, come on then!” he called. As Ribyna whipped out a dagger, Fahjoth did the same; the goal wasn’t to injure, of course, but any practise would be useful.

“Just be careful, you two!” Abik warned, as he and Merrick watched with interest. “Try not to take any eyes out.”

Fahjoth and Ribyna began to prowl around each other, each holding back and waiting for the other to make a move. Eventually, Ribyna leapt forward and lunged out at her sibling’s shoulder with the flat side of the blade, which Fahjoth narrowly avoided by stumbling back with haste. He almost lost his footing on the damp grass, feeling his gut lurch as he suddenly slipped, but with a vigorous windmilling of his arms he was able to regain his balance. His recovery didn’t come fast enough, however, as Ribyna took her chance and jumped forward again with another mock whack of her dagger. Fahjoth grimaced as he felt the weapon connect with his ribs with a soft thud, and still wasn’t quick enough to block it with his own. Ribyna’s victorious smirk was both amusing and annoying.

“Got you!” she taunted, twirling the blade in her fingers. “If this was a real fight, you’d be so dead.”

“Ah come on, I slipped!” Fahjoth protested, remaining on guard in case Ribyna attacked again. Sure enough, she didn’t hesitate.

“Yeah? Well, slip on this!”

This time, Fahjoth was expecting it. Keeping his stance firm and balanced, he was quick to retaliate - Ribyna’s dagger came sailing past his face as he sidestepped to avoid it, throwing up his own arm to knock Ribyna off-balance. However, a terrible error in judgement resulted in his bunched fist connecting sharply with Ribyna’s face.

After the second it took to process what had just happened, Fahjoth gasped and immediately retreated, dropping his dagger and bringing his hands up to his face in horror. “Oh fuck Beebs, I’m sorry-!” He blabbed his apologies as Ribyna stood there in mute shock, watching her own blood flowing from her nose and peppering the sodden grass underfoot, mixing with the raindrops and forming watery maroon stains which lay stark against the greenery.

“I told you both to be careful,” Abik groaned. He and Merrick both rose to check on Ribyna, as Fahjoth took a few cautious steps forward himself, but before anyone had a chance to speak, Ribyna pounced. She threw her full body weight into Fahjoth, tackling him to the ground and somehow managing to secure him into a tight headlock before he could even react.

“Right, that’s it! You’re getting it now!”

“Ribyna-!”

Though it was a relief to know that Ribyna was relatively alright, Fahjoth still wasn’t too keen for a wrestling match at that moment - especially not in the pouring rain over muddy, sludgy ground. But he took the challenge and gave it his best, reluctant to be bested by his twin. Unfortunately, try as he might to free himself, Ribyna wasn’t showing any sign of letting Fahjoth escape; to exacerbate matters, their antics had attracted Pip’s attention, who came bounding over to them with excited barks. Tail flailing from side to side, she lunged at Fahjoth, once again licking his face as she joined the fray.

“Say you surrender!” she jeered, grinning wickedly as she held her brother tightly in an unforgiving chokehold.

“Gerroff! You’re getting blood all over me!” Fahjoth exclaimed, wrinkling his nose in disgust despite laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. Eventually though, he figured it would be better to give in. “Alright, alright! I surrender! Now for fuck’s sake, get off-!”

At last, Ribyna accepted his yield and she let Fahjoth go, snickering as she returned to the tent and attempted to wipe the blood from her face. Fahjoth trooped in after her once he managed to calm Pip down again, soaking wet and covered in mud from the rain, while Merrick was on hand to offer Ribyna a handkerchief for her nose.

“Right, well, have you two gotten that out of your systems?” Abik asked, brow raised as he appraised the twins with a mock stern expression, and the both of them grinned back sheepishly.

“Yup. That was fun,” Ribyna said, holding the handkerchief to her nose. Abik scoffed and shook his head in response, while Merrick gently held Ribyna’s face with one hand and raised the other to her nose.

“I think we’ve got different definitions of ‘fun’, Beebs,” he remarked, a warm golden glow beginning to radiate from his palm. Ribyna sat still and allowed herself to be healed, grinning all the while.

“At least we know I can kick Fahjoth’s arse, whatever the weather” she drawled, and Fahjoth snorted derisively.

“Says the one who’s covered in their own blood!” he retorted, unable to contain a laugh. Abik rolled his eyes and tossed Fahjoth over a clean scrap of linen, and the four of them winced as Pip entered the shelter and shook off her thick grey fur, covering them all in flecks of dirty water.

“Get yourself cleaned up too, Fahjoth. Don’t want you dripping muck all over the place.”

Fahjoth obliged, gazing around the shelter in admiration as he stopped to really take it in. “How’d you keep it so dry in here, anyway? I thought it’d be soaked through by now in this weather.”

“Oh, that’s just Merrick being a genius,” Ribyna answered him proudly. “He used a water walking spell on the top. It’s keeping the water right off!”

Merrick blushed, dismissing the praise with a wave of his hand. “It was quite simple. Not a big deal at all, really.”

“You say that, but magic is hard! Me and Ribyna can barely manage a flame spell between us,” Fahjoth laughed. Ribyna, however, appeared inspired.

“After this cult bullshit is done with, can you teach me some spells?” she asked, gingerly tapping her nose as Merrick finished up his healing magic. He paused, seemingly surprised before he nodded with enthusiasm.

“Yeah, course I can! What d’you want to learn the most?”

“Everything!” Ribyna gushed. “Healing, fireballs, invisibility- oh, and levitation! Imagine being able to just fly whenever you want!”

Merrick responded with a wry grin. “Even if I knew levitation magic, I couldn’t teach it to you. Didn’t you know? They banned it earlier this year.”

Ribyna’s face fell at the news. “What?!” she exclaimed, not bothering to hide her disappointment. “Seriously? That’s bullshit!”

Merrick shrugged with a sympathetic smile. “I know, it’s a shame. I wouldn’t have minded learning it myself.”

“Maybe it’s for the best. I think I’d shit myself if I saw Ribyna suddenly flying towards me in midair,” Fahjoth commented, laughing as Ribyna pouted and gave him the middle finger in response. However, Fahjoth’s attention was suddenly grabbed by the arrival of a blonde Imperial to the Waterfront, and he bit his lip with trepidation while considering his options. A knowing look from Abik settled his resolve, and Fahjoth stood up once more. “Hey lads, I’m just gonna...” He gestured vaguely towards the newcomer, and his companions nodded in understanding.

“Good luck!” Merrick said, giving Fahjoth a thumbs up.

“If he upsets you again, come tell me and I’ll beat him up!” Ribyna added, and Fahjoth snorted.

“Yeah, I believe you! I’ll let you know,” Fahjoth joked, flashing them all a grin before taking a deep breath and stepping out into the downpour once more. Jogging slightly to catch up with the Imperial, Fahjoth raised his voice. “Cassius!”

Cassius stopped, squinting against the rain as Fahjoth hastened to catch up with him. The awkward air between them was more than tangible, and Fahjoth was for a moment lost for words. “Can we talk-?” he started, only to shut his mouth instantly as Cassius spoke.

“Look, Fahjoth, I’ve been thinking, and I... I need to apologise,” he said, his expression remorseful. “I shouldn’t have just... dismissed your worries like that.”

“Oh...” Rather stunned by the quick turnaround, Fahjoth managed a weak smile. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“You know what I’m like. I can be such a dick sometimes.” Cassius shot Fahjoth a grateful smile, offering out his hand which he took without hesitation. “Are we okay?”

“Yeah, course we are,” Fahjoth replied, feeling an overwhelming sense of contentment and relief as he gave Cassius’ hand an affectionate squeeze. “Has there been any news yet?”

“Not yet, but I can’t see Shadra being much longer. She should be back... any time now, really.” Cassius turned his gaze out towards Lake Rumare, softly intertwining his fingers with Fahjoth’s. “You’re not still worrying, are you? ‘Cause I promise, I wouldn’t have challenged them if I thought there was any real danger.”

Deep down, Fahjoth did indeed still have his misgivings, but he decided to hide them for the sake of avoiding confrontation. Instead, he shook his head. “I’m fine. I was talking to Abik and Merrick as well, and... well, I feel a bit better.”

“Oh yeah? Gossiping about me, were you?” Cassius teased, and Fahjoth playfully knocked his shoulder against his.

“Not everything’s about you, y’know!”

“Hm, I dunno. That sounds fake,” Cassius laughed, only to pause and look around as another voice suddenly called for him, loud and clear despite the incessant rain and soft rumbling of thunder in the distance.

“Cassius.”

Instantly, Fahjoth’s worries returned and amplified tenfold as Shadra approached them. The look on her face was enough to tell them everything, but Cassius inquired anyway.

“What’s the verdict?”

Shadra paused to take a deep breath, before making the grim announcement Fahjoth had been dreading.

“They didn’t take the bait. They’re meeting us here at dawn. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Cassius frowned, suddenly looking concerned. Evidently he hadn’t been expecting such a development so soon. “Alright... cheers, Shadra. Let everyone you can know... I still don’t think it’ll come to anything, but we need to make sure we’re all armed as well.”

“On it,” Shadra replied, dipping her head towards them both before departing once more. Cassius turned to Fahjoth, trying to look reassuring but failing to completely conceal his grim expression.

“It’ll be fine, Fahjoth. Try not to worry, alright?”

He leaned in close to leave a soft kiss on Fahjoth’s lips, before excusing himself and walking off into the haze. Fahjoth watched him go, then glanced over to the makeshift shelter, where three pairs of inquisitive eyes stared back. Fahjoth heaved a sigh. He was well and truly soaked by now under the lashing rain, but somehow he no longer cared, and he frowned and rubbed his brow with unease.

“Gods, I wish I had your confidence...”

#oc: fahjoth #oc: ribyna #tes #tes fic #morrowind #dunmer #dunmer oc #nerevarine #elder scrolls #elder scrolls fanfiction #tes iii: morrowind

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