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Blind One

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Joined: 06 Sep 2013
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re: Faradin Dar'kir, Chosen of Mafala


Part 1 "Mafala's Will"

The darkness, the blood on his claws, the wailing of a memory he believed he had squelched.


Faradin sat with his back to the dull white wall, his Greys cut in a dozen locations. Labored breaths pulled through damaged lungs. He had taken to many risks this time. She had wanted him  to test his limits like old times. This mission should have been executed by five Tong members and with less blood..


His gaze was cast to the floor. Corpses strewn about the room, created in a tangle of blades and savagery.  Blood covered every surface, collecting in pools under the dead.


One of the bodies began to moan and push itself up with it's arm but only succeeded in shifting his gaze to Faradin's dark visage. The dunmer spat through bloody lips, "Who... " the dunmer spat "Who sent you?"


Faradin lifted his head, the khajiit's glare inspired a primal fear in the dunmer causing the dying mans eyes to grow wide. "Mafala" Faradin whispered, just loud enough for his victim to hear. It was the truth, in a way, Faradin thought.


The dunmer's eyes, still wide, rolled back in his skull as Faradin sent a

shadowed spike to impale the man's neck.


Faradin forced himself to his feet, and ripped a piece of cloth from one of the fallen. He dipped the cloth into the crimson pools beneath a dunmeri woman’s corpse, and proceeded to mark the walls with symbols of the Tong.


A gruesome task, for a gruesome deed. An eradication of such a young dunmeri house would have it's repercussions. Faradin just saw it as another web to weave, another seed to plant, to draw souls to his blade for Mafala.

The Weaver extended his hand, dropping the cloth, blood dripping from his claws, and strode down the first of many corridors to exit the dunmeri manse.

The sharp scents of fear and despair stopped Faradin in his tracks. He slowly moved toward the source, opening a wardrobe located in a small servants room.

Inside sat a young khajiit, huddled, shaking, shocked and scared. Faradin placed a bloody finger under the child’s chin, lifting her face.

Her brown fur and big blue eyes met that of Faradin's. A chain place around

her neck and wrists, a house slave.

"Do not fear this one child, Jone and Jode see you this night, you are safe in their loving arms." A sharp click escaped Faradin’s fangs as he broke the chains in a savage motion of Shadow and strength.



Part 2 - "2 moons after the fall of the potentate, Morag tong councilchambers.


Faradin stepped lightly into the great chamber. Hidden deep within Mournehold. The secret passage he had used to enter the stronghold had been covered by a wardrobe, The secret of the entrance had only been revealed to him after cycles of unquestionable devotion. Nothing but shadows then. There was no way that the hidden sanctuary had been used weekly, but it had, without anyone seeing through the many covered entrances.


The tunnel itself was nothing but darkness, but the great chamber had some light high above. Casting dark shadows over the patrons that sat high along the wall of the council chamber.


"Faradin, I see you have joined us." the voice was darkness itself. Mafala twisting the voice to inspire fear. Such was to be expected from the chamber master, Jaspala Herself. She was chosen by mafala, as was Faradin, but hardly so.


Darkness filled every crevice of the chamber. As faradin stepped forward he felt the oppression, a feeling he had to fight back with every ounce of will. To keep his cool, Faradin pictured the chamber in the light of the sun, or perhaps Illuminated by the light of Jone and Jode.


It set Faradin at ease. One deep breath and he was ready to confront the council. "I am here at the behest of Almalexia, as he her hand I have been given the duty, no, the privileged, of addressing this council." The lie came easy, laced with a bit of truth, all the best lies had a tinge of truth. "The privledge of providing a warning, the days of the tong are numbered, this business with the potentates have spelled our doom. The will of the council will fall in all provinces outside of Morrowind. I have come to cut ties."


"You know the price of life is death, Chosen." Jaspala's voice was hard. Faradin could smell the anger on her, and the rest of the great councilors. Faradin glanced about, meeting what he thought was the eyes of each of the 12 cowled figures.


Then Faradin heard the footsteps. 10 steps, as faradin's greatest rival, the greatest of the morag tong's black hands. Gaspar, first blade of the tong, looked at faradin with dead eyes, the hairless head of the dunmer man was spotted with black liver-spots. A side effect of all the death he reaped. Faradin could only smell confidence and determination exude from the man.


Faradin set his stance, his center of gravity dropping low, shadow blades forming in both hands. Gaspar took a similar stance, one great shadowblade forming in his hands...


 Part 3 - "Swamps and Sithis" -followup from Part 2 of Wild Artemis, Trueshot of Yffre

Faradin roughly grabbed the trembling bosmer by the shoulders, and hauled him out of the room.  The little mer sure can bleed. Even now blood was trickling down his arm. Here I thought the little weakling couldn’t get any more pale. The pale flesh of the bosmer now looked ghostly white. Whatever Dark Magic Ri’shai had used to sustain Tolan’s “friend” certainly took it out of the mer. Faradin didn’t much care what happened to him. He was simply a tool which served its purpose. Faradin considered killing him. Faradin had blindfolded the man and drug him into the sewer pipes. Maybe this mer would know that kha’jit were stowing away beneath Stormhold, but Faradin doubted that anyone would be brave enough to traverse the under city.

 Faradin gave the little mer a flat stare, holding in his hand the same blindfold he had used early. The bosmer gave a disgusted sigh and placed the fold across his eyes. At Faradin’s strong nudge the bosmer was set to walking, taking a left side tunnel out of the larger alcove and into the long sewer pipes. The odor of these sewers were different from most Faradin had encountered. The marshes that inevitably flowed through these ancient pipes gave the sewers more of a liquid dirt smell than a human byproduct smell. He placed the bosmers hand against the wall, and they began to traverse the narrow side of the tunnel that was damp but above the water’s height.

 The mer gave an incredulous scream as his hand ran through the length of a large spider web, the spider itself perched above them on the ceiling of the musky tunnel. Faradin gave a little chuckle as he pondered the fate of the little bosmer. Has this mer really done anything to deserve this one’s blade? Deserving or not hadn’t stayed Faradin’s hand in the past, but times were changing. Faradin was changing. His once uncontrollable bloodlust had begun to subside. Was Faradin still the killer he had always been? Tolan had always wed murder with compassion, but for some reason compassion did not live in Faradin. Faradin had always wed murder with glee. No longer.

 “Step lightly mer, and stay your tongue concerning what you’ve seen here today, unless you want to meet my blade” Faradin’s grim voice bounced off the walls of the narrow sewer way.

 The bosmer grunted in affirmation, stepping slowly as the tunnel became more narrow. Faradin contemplated the risks of killing the bosmer. The chances of the man having any family that would notice his absence was slim. From what Faradin could gather the bosmer was a simple tradesman passing through the marshes. If Faradin let him live it may put Tolan’s home at risk. However if he killed this relative innocent… Well it may bring Faradin back to the precipice. The place that lived within him. That place where he killed with impunity, anything to please Mafala.  Faradin inspected the bosmer, bobbing in front of him. the bosmer slipped slightly on the muck of the sewer’s side terrace.

 Faradin grabbed the mer by his arm as one of the little mer’s feet plunged into the muck of the sewer way. “You’ll never wash the smell out of that foot.”

 “I can barely stand, my head feels like it might explode, and this blind-fold isn’t helping” the bosmer spoke.

 Faradin chuckled again, glad that the fragile mer had a little backbone. “You know this one could just snap your neck and end your worries?”

 The bosmer’s weak frame seemed to shrink a little more as he contemplated his swift end. Faradin wasn’t going to kill him. One, the little bastard didn’t deserve it. Two, Faradin had spilled enough blood to fill Mafala’s lust for a few more cycles. So he made his decision. They came to a fork in the tunnel. Faradin sniffed the air and determined the direction of the fresh swamp air, if “fresh” it could be considered, it was to the left. Faradin hated this blasted place.

 The width of the walkway grew more narrow as they headed down the tunnel. Eventually he saw daylight ahead, breaking in between the bars of the sewer grate. He had to start stooping, he let the blindfolded bosmer plant his skull into the shrinking ceiling. The bosmer gave a yelp and began to fall into the sewers waterway before Faradin once again caught him. You have to appreciate the little things in life. The bosmer gained his footing and thrashed toward Faradin, an offensive gesture, but also a harmless one.

 “You really are a… a bastard, cat man!” The bosmer spat, he was facing Faradin now, precious blood began to stain the blindfold above the mers brow.

 “This one forgot to mention, you should watch your head.” Faradin was glad he let the man live, such entertainment was hard to come by.

 The bosmer turned around a flurry of anger. He lifted his arm only a few inches above his head and placed it on the ceiling on the tunnel. The height of the tunnel dropped by several paces before they reached the grate. Faradin kicked the grate open and led the bosmer to a main road outside of stormhold. Faradin inspected the little mer in the daylight. He looked quite pale, Faradin wondered if the man may die yet. He was covered in a few bruises, one on the back of his skull, a big knot that Faradin himself had given him. One on the man’s brow, trickling blood.

 “Wait a few moments and you can take the blindfold off. I am sure this one does not need to remind you that he will eat you for breakfast, and murder everyone you know if you ever speak of what happened today.” Faradin laughed at the outlandish threat, as if he knew the inner workings of this lowly bosmer’s social life. But a threat that encompassed every aspect sometimes did the trick where subtlety did not.

 “Yffre curse you!” The bosmer once again spat, he almost fell again, but managed to catch his balance.

 Maybe I should make sure he can make the 100 paces to Stormhold. Faradin thought again, and decided he didn’t particularly care. “Mafala has given you your life this day, I suggest you spend it someplace less treacherous.”

 Not everyone considered the black marsh treacherous, but Faradin did, he hated this place with a passion. Insects the size of his fist, a thousand unknown poisons and diseases, not to mention reptiles the size of a carriage. His fur always felt so matted, the humidity of the place made him feel sluggish. Anything slowing him down in a fight with a true shadow-scale could be problematic. Faradin had dealt with the shadow-scales before, they knew better than to cross him. Mostly due to the fact that crossing him, or Tolan, brought about the wrath of the other. Together they were unstoppable. Alone they were merely formidable.

 So once again I’m forced to take the risks. Faradin began making his way through the marsh, heading deeper in. Great tree’s rose around him, each had hanging moss that descended from thick branches. He cleared one narrow swampy river after another. He passed small stone totems that displayed faces of agony. He continued on, even passing a dead Wamasu that lay upon the corpse of a Nord. Stupid brave brash adventurers like that always seem to bite off more than they can chew.

 The river turned sharply, running into the Cliffside. From the heights above a great waterfall fell, the source of the wide swampy river. Faradin had seen the place before. Two ancient, and magnificient Argonian statues sat upon each side of the cliff above. One was fitted with a greatsword, the other with two daggers. This looks like the place. Grudgingly Faradin entered the river and began to swim toward the waterfall itself. As he got closer he swam to the shore, meeting heavy brush that lived upon each side of the waterfall.

 “You have ssssome nerve coming here, Faradin”

 Faradin was just shaking off his fur, he turned slowly to meet the gaze of Shizzar. “Good to see you too, chosen of Sithis.” The comment was meant to draw lines. Shizzar knew whom Faradin served.

 The Argonian unlatched a dagger from his waste, the blade was a favorite of the lizardman’s, if Faradin’s memory served him correctly. “Has Maphala misguided your sssteps so? My people are hunting you and your brother as we sssspeak.” Shizzar’s voice was calm, no hint of anger.

 Faradin knew that the Argonian was speaking the truth. Tolan mentioned he had killed two of the Shadow-scales while saving that blasted bosmer. “Thanks for the warning, but we both know what will happen if you come for us.” Faradin’s voice was steel.

 Shizzar’s unnaturally black eyes glanced about. “You know, we were once allies… well maybe not allies, but we respected each other, sometimes that means more than simple companionship. You wish to throw it all away for a girl?”

 “I am not my brother’s keeper Shizzar, we both know he does what he will, however threatening my family will end badly.” Faradin could see rage pass over the Argonian’s face. Faradin was smiling beneath his stern gaze.

 “The Dar’kir will suffer for this Faradin, Tolan killed one of the – well someone he should not have.” The Argonian was twirling his dagger in hand. His green-violet scales obscured by his black Shadow-scale greys.

 “We’ve all killed those we should not have… It changes little. What did you want with that girl?”

 “That busssinesss is not my own, otherwisse I would ssurely tell you, but know that some of my kin will not stop hunting you. I sssuggest you either leave these marsshess or prepare for war.” Shizzar turned his back. The finality of the statement confirming Faradin’s fears.  This situation was not salvageable. It looks like we will have to beat the answers out of that bosmer, enough blood has been shed between the shadow-scales and the Dar’kir.

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