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[Freckles04]

Part 19

Zevran hovered near the front entrance to Weisshaupt, cloaked in shadows. Discipline kept him from shifting nervously, even though an unholy amount of adrenaline poured through him. His three companions shared words with the guards stationed at the gate, Alistair gesturing sharply, his brows drawn low over glittering eyes. Truly, the man had grown into his kingly mantle. Would wonders never cease.

Another man appeared at the entrance, garbed in unpretentious armor, and after another round of unheard discussions, Alistair and the others were led inside.

Zevran forced his stomach to unclench as his friends disappeared. Maker watch over them. He had his own job to do.

Skulking through the shadows, he let his nose guide him to the kitchen entrance. Rotting vegetables, rising bread, roasting meat--the smell was universal. He wrinkled his nose and slipped through the doorway. A cooking fire flickered in the hearth, but there was no other light and no servants. It was well after the evening meal, long enough that the last of the kitchen staff had retired in preparation for their early morning. Perfect. They couldn't have timed their entry any better than if they'd planned it.

The elf paused at the door leading to the interior hallway. He hated operating blind. Given a choice, he would have scouted the fortress for a few nights before acting, but the King would not brook any delays. Not that the assassin blamed him; in fact, he thought Alistair had shown remarkable patience in seeking out the counsel of Arl Eamon, Teyrn Fergus, and waiting for his travelling companions to join him. In his place, Zevran wasn't sure he wouldn't have stormed the docks, demanding passage from anyone who could grant it.

He glanced to his right, then his left, and, shrugging, headed right. At every door, he stopped, listened; if he heard nothing, he quietly opened it, picking the lock if necessary, and confirmed the room's contents. After a dozen rooms, he felt the first stirrings of worry. He'd yet to find any trace of Bryn: not her armor, not her weapons, nothing.

Had they been wrong all along? Perhaps she hadn't been brought to Weisshaupt, after all. Perhaps Marcel had lied…

A cool breeze stroked his cheek, tracing the simple, two-line tattoo drawn from his temple to his chin. The change in air pressure enticed him onward; such movement usually indicated a difference in temperature, which normally meant--

Ah, yes. Zevran allowed his lips to curve as he spotted the darkened door and the rough stone steps beyond it. Excellent. He'd found the dungeons. His muscles tensed as he tried to visualize what awaited him below. Close quarters, most likely; dungeons weren't known for being spacious, pleasant areas. Guards, without a doubt. Combined with the close quarters, that would mean a fight.

Zev unlatched the sword and dagger from his back. Most excellent. He longed to show these upstart Wardens what they'd begun.

The dungeons smelled nearly as bad as the kitchens. Bodily secretions, like sweat and dung and urine, mingled with the rank odor of despair. A combination he'd lived with through his time of testing with the Crows, and one he'd hoped to never encounter again. He chose his steps carefully. The stairs had fallen into disrepair, crumbling, which left the footing less than sure. One misplaced step would announce his presence through dislodging the shale, or, Maker forbid, sending him careening to the bottom.

He waited at the base of the stairs for his eyes to adjust to the near-complete blackness. A single weak torch burned beside him, but the light did not reach into the deepest portions of the dungeon. Closing his eyes, he focused instead on sharpening his hearing. There--rough, shaky breaths. One person. No guards, then. Odd, that, but Zev didn't dwell on it.

Maker, let it be her.

He refused to give in to the urge to rush forward. Acting without thinking got foolish assassins killed, and he was anything but foolish. Most of the time. He reached up and retrieved the inadequate torch from its holder, then began the tortuous process of walking--slowly--to the cell from which the soft sounds originated. The dim circle of light preceding him revealed damp stones laden with moss and lichen; once, he caught sight of a pair of reddish eyes before the rat retreated into the dark. Then, beyond a set of iron bars, a delicate, bare foot. Another. Legs, folded haphazardly. A torso, drooping beneath arms wrenched upward by chains. Dark hair cascaded down one side of her chest; one of her customary buns had come loose, but the other remained intact. Her porcelain skin was unmarked. So, no torture? Zevran frowned, the tiny hairs at the back of his neck rising. She hadn't reacted to the approaching light. Was she unconscious, then?

He crouched to check…and stumbled backward, his renowned discipline abandoning him.

Bryn's eyes were white--pure white, no iris, no pupil. Opened wide, trembling, like she was viewing horrors he couldn't imagine. Didn't want to.

Magic. Maker's blood. He cast his gaze around the cell and spotted the slight glimmer he'd missed previously--a glyph surrounded her, of a type he'd never seen before.

He spat a curse in Antivan. He couldn't help her. Damn it. If she'd simply been locked up with a guard or two or five, it wouldn't have been an issue. But magic…Maker knew what would happen to him or her should he try to free her. They might both die. No, he was absolutely useless against that kind of trap.

But he knew one person who wasn't.

[Sialater]

How on earth...?

[Freckles04]

Sialater wrote...

How on earth...?

Hmm?

[Sialater]

Freckles04 wrote...

Sialater wrote...

How on earth...?

Hmm?

Should have said, "Who?"

[Treason1]

A magic trap Zevran can't get through, but someone else can...



Is this the part where we see some dwarf tossing?

[Sisimka]

Who, who!

[Freckles04]

Capt. Obvious wrote...

Short chapter. Maybe even a bit boring. But you paced it fairly well and I like how you add detail, though there really isn't much to say about this chapter.

Capt., I'll be upfront with you. I'm not looking for critiques. I'm sharing this story as I write it, because I enjoy it, and it seems as though others are enjoying reading about the continuing adventures of Bryn and her companions. This story will never go anywhere beyond these forums, because I don't own it. As far as I'm concerned, BioWare owns every word I put down on this piece. Therefore, it will likely not ever be revised or see a second draft as it is not intended for publication.

That said, I do appreciate helpful feedback. Your comments, however, do not fall into this category. Making a blanket statement that a chapter is boring does little to help improve the story. It comes across, instead, as an attack. I've noticed that you have done the same for other fanfics posted on this forum. Perhaps you're not aware of critiquing etiquette, which is to be concrete, concise, and polite.

At any rate, I will point out that this is not really a critique forum. It is a place for people to share their creativity and passion for a world we all adore and don't want to leave.

Thanks.

[Freckles04]

Treason1 wrote...

A magic trap Zevran can't get through, but someone else can...

Has no one else played a templar?

[Sialater]

Freckles04 wrote...

Treason1 wrote...

A magic trap Zevran can't get through, but someone else can...

Has no one else played a templar?

I know HE can.  i use him for that all the time.  Just didn't know if you were going in that direction.

[Sisimka]

Ah... *smacks self* No, I never play Templar, I leave all that goodness to Al.

[Freckles04]

Sialater wrote...

I know HE can.  i use him for that all the time.  Just didn't know if you were going in that direction.

Just goes to show that when you're writing, the stuff you think is obvious might not be...

Ah, well. ALISTAIR TO THE RESCUE!

[Sialater]

You say that like he should be wearing a cape and tights.

[tallon1982]

Why do I sense a Sleeping Beauty moment? hehe

[Freckles04]

Sialater wrote...

You say that like he should be wearing a cape and tights.

Mmm...Alistair in a cape...and tights....



Sorry, what were we talking about?

[Sialater]

Freckles04 wrote...

Sialater wrote...

You say that like he should be wearing a cape and tights.

Mmm...Alistair in a cape...and tights....



Sorry, what were we talking about?

Almost as good as leather pants....

[nos_astra]

I knew it, I knew it, I can proove it. I'm awesome! Ha!



*squee* Ali templar action! *faints*

[Jannamarie]

I usually have all the warriors in my group with Templar specialty. Smack downs on mages coming up.

Ogren with Bersker and Templar is a delight to have in my group.

As I said before, you do capture Zev as I picture him.

Modifié par Jannamarie, 10 février 2010 - 09:09 .

[AdorableAnarchist]

Freckles, this was great! The white eyes got me... Shivery and ugh-y.

[AndrastesKnickers]

Sialater wrote...

Freckles04 wrote...

Sialater wrote...

You say that like he should be wearing a cape and tights.

Mmm...Alistair in a cape...and tights....



Sorry, what were we talking about?

Almost as good as leather pants....

MMMMMM..... Leather pants.....

I can't wait for more! Good job!
You have inspired me to do a little fanfic myself but doubt it will be near as good as yours.

[TanithAeyrs]

You spoil us, this and Auditions. Cookies for you.

[Kallian13]

Freckles04 wrote...

Treason1 wrote...

A magic trap Zevran can't get through, but someone else can...

Has no one else played a templar?

No but I didn't notice some of Al's templar abilities...

Though I'm not smart enough to have put 2 and 2 together

[Freckles04]

Capt., thanks for proving my point. Have a great day!