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The Road to Blacklight


Started by Thorfinn
Post #34870
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2E 566, 27th of Hearthfire.

We should make it to Blacklight by dusk tomorrow, my lord. If we keep to our current pace, that is. No point camping out in on the road when there’s a fine tavern in Silgrad.”

The lad gave no sign of having heard him. He walked along, one foot in front of the other, not a word out of him. It was hard, seeing him like this, but Vessin had no doubt it was for the best. Lord and Lady Tothen were demanding but fair masters. They were only doing what they had to. Locrine had responsibilities, like every noble of House Redoran. Like every member of House Redoran. And Vessin’s duty was to see him to Blacklight. Right from the beginning of the journey, he had been alert to the danger of the young master making another run for it, but nothing. The lad was broken-spirited. Being sent away by your kin will do that, Vessin reckoned. Still, Councillor Tothen wanted his son to learn discipline, gravity, piety and maturity. Service in Blacklight should teach him those attributes.

Taeyn and Reiun came up behind him, the latter leading a guar with three chests containing Locrine’s belongings. They were not much older than Locrine. Three guards was a bit much, Vessin reckoned, fully armoured in Bonemold and all. He could have managed it himself, maybe kept the lad’s spirits up. After all, he’d watched young Locrine Tothen since he could walk. A bit of spirit was no bad thing, Vessin reckoned. If it ventured in the right direction. Not that the lad’s did, mind. Never had.

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Locrine trudged along the dusty road, aware that he had ignored Vessin, and glad that had deterred him from any more attempts at conversation. The other two never talked to him, just watched him like a hawk. As if he were their prisoner. Silgrad Tower reared up in the distance. One day nearer to Blacklight. One day nearer to freedom. Knowing you have a plan, but not being able to enact it, well, it was stressful.

Locrine stopped to take a draught of water. He looked every inch the part of Dunmeri noble, ever so slightly taller than average, wide shoulders, slim waist, pronounced cheekbones. All the marks of good Mer breeding. A curse on noble blood. His hair, well, that was only the start of his peculiarities. Red, like a dying ember. How apt. The bright flame dimming into nothingness. A young elf consigned to forced service. Locrine began walking again, but picked up the pace. He was impatient to see this done.

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Locrine left his room and hurried downstairs. The guards would take a little while to get out of their armour, and that gave him the time he needed. He swept rather imperiously into the inn’s small kitchen, and beckoned to a serving maid. She was pretty, and it wasn’t hard to smile pleasantly down at her.

“I was wondering if I could ask you a favour?” he began.

“What’s that m’lord?”

“Well, I want to show my guardsmen than I’m not some stuck up nobleman’s son. You know, play a little joke on them. It might make the journey easier, more comfortable.”

“What would you want me to do, m’lord?”

Locrine produced a bottle from beneath his cloak. “Simply put seven drops of this into the bottom of each of three cups tonight, and give me the fourth.”

“Oh, well, I don’t know if I could do that m’lord”. She looked concerned. Locrine smiled again, and caught her eye. She returned his smile shyly. He just needed to clinch it.

“Oh, I completely understand. It’s just that it’s so hard for a nobleman of House Redoran, a son of Councillor Tothen, to get to know his guards.” He saw it in her expression. She recognised not only the Redoran name, but the Tothen name too. “And we will be travelling into dangerous lands, it might be politic to get along. But if you’re uncomfortable…”

They ate in relative silence, bar the odd comment. Common food, with Mazte to wash it down. Plenty of Matze. Locrine smiled as he watched them drink. The comfort of an Inn had made them lax. He thought about what he was doing for only the briefest moments. He had long since made up his mind to leave. But just up and running like he did last year, and meticulously planning his escape were different feelings. There was no feeling of freedom and release. Not yet. But soon. It wasn’t long before his guards began to feel drowsy. That was when he excused himself, saying he was going to bed. He didn’t want them to feel any need to stay up, and pass out on the table. That might arouse suspicion. No need for that. He climbed the stairs and returned to his room. All he need do now was wait. It was deliciously ironic that his father was always trying to impress upon him the importance of patience and measured thinking. Well, now he was displaying those traits. He was sure his father would just burst with pride when he found out. Darkness came on swiftly, and he heard the tavern patrons coming upstairs and to bed, one by one, group by group. Then, all was quiet.

Locrine walked quietly but purposefully across the hall to the room Vessin, Reuin and Taeyn shared. He slipped open the door and padded across to the senior guardsman. The keys were on his belt over the back of a chair. It was a simple matter to remove them and unlock the chests now stacked in a corner. He didn’t bother about stealth; they would be unconscious for hours yet. He selected various items, clothes, and other useful items. Or at least, he assumed they would be useful. It’s not as if he had any experience. Finally, he unlocked the third chest. In it, a full suit of Bonemold armour lay, more decorative and tailored than those of his guards. He shoved it aside. He had no desire to carry it around. Underneath, wrapped in a piece of white cloth were his weapons. He knew little of such matters, but his father had taken him to Vivec’s greatest smith and commissioned two pieces, a sword and knife made in elven style. They had been forged for him, and it seemed a shame to leave them. He was supposed to receive them in Blacklight, and use them against the Nords, but he had no intention of doing any such thing. Locrine bucked them on, arranged them on his waist, and closed the chests. Then he left, went down the stairs, and out into the dark. He slung his travelsack over his shoulder, checked his coin purse, heavy with family gold, and set out North. When they awoke, Vessin and the others would find him gone, and would assume one of two things. That he had gone west into Skyrim, or that he had travelled back south into Morrowind. But there was another pass into Skyrim, north of Blacklight. They would never think he would go north, toward the very place he was running from. And even if they did, he had a good lead. He strode boldly toward the western edge of town, approaching the patrolling guardsmen. One last part of his plan, a little misdirection.

“Is this the way west into Skyrim?” he demanded.

“Aye, this is the path. But its pitch black, why not wait till morning?”

Locrine chuckled. “Things to do, my friend, things to do”. And off he went, walking in the dark for perhaps a mile before he swung north, keeping the town in sight. At length, he lost sight of the town, and at daybreak he found the northward road down into the Great Valley and Blacklight. Yet, he still didn’t feel that exhilaration. Not yet. Maybe once he was out of Morrowind. Yes, that was it. He just had to make it out of Morrowind.
This post was last modified: February 7th 2013, 01:34 PM by Thorfinn




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Post #36114
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Locrine's a clever one! Seems like a bit of charm doesn't hurt either.

Look forward to seeing how he ends up all the way in Cyrodil!


Character Profiles:
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Post #36159
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Inexperienced, brash, and a... pyromaniac? or, wait, where did I read that?


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Post #36226
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He is indeed a pyromaniac, its in his bio.




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Post #37784
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(February 8th 2013, 07:46 AM)Thorfinn Wrote: He is indeed a pyromaniac, its in his bio.

yeah, I remember. good stuff. I'm gonna read chapter two after a run.

I like the free-spirited young noble feeling trapped by his station and the opulence he cares little about... not at all unlike Ekara, my wife's TES character.


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