Should rename that chapter 'Lethal Weapon: Zevran'.
I had no clue DnD was still popular, holy crap. A four year campaign? Jebus...I DM and I don't think I could do something that long...my mind reels at the sheer amount of work.
Back on topic...
I've read all of your short stories now, and it only took excessive reading, four Red Bulls, and a bag of Spicy Nacho Doritos! In short, keep em coming!
FanFiction/Art - Final Chapter (Aedan), (12/27) Interludes
Débuté par
Sisimka
, févr. 25 2010 05:06
Retour en haut
#702
Posté 12 avril 2010 - 10:05
Sisimka
-
- Members
- 935 messages
FerreusVir wrote...
I've read all of your short stories now, and it only took excessive reading, four Red Bulls, and a bag of Spicy Nacho Doritos! In short, keep em coming!
That sounds... dangerous! I'm glad you've caught up and needn't risk any more gastric distress!
Thanks for reading.
#703
Posté 12 avril 2010 - 02:15
Olwaye
-
- Members
- 384 messages
Naked Zevan, Alistair in a dress dancing, and Oghren in full "dwarven stallion" state, these are the real weapons that end the Blight, Archdemon and Darkspawns just died of laugh or lust
#704
Posté 13 avril 2010 - 03:04
Sisimka
-
- Members
- 935 messages
Chapter Seven
Zevran and Juilden passed the rest of the afternoon in a quiet game of strategy and chance, wagering the flasks, potions and bombs they had collected the evening before. Zevran ended up with all the bombs and Juilden ended up with all the poisons. They were both well satisfied with the outcome.
Cristina dropped in from time to time and bearing food and drinks and both men greeted her warmly.
Juilden looked up after their last game. “Will you take her to your bed tonight?”
“If we live through our visit with Anora, I might have cause to celebrate, no?”
Juilden chuckled. “Should you not look more eager?”
Zevran grinned. “Perhaps I should! Cristina has many worthy attributes.”
As night deepened the time to leave crept upon them and Zevran and Juilden pocketed their supplies, checked their weapons and made ready to move. Cristina’s private apartment was located above the kitchen and at the back of the inn. Zevran indicated the balcony doors. “Let us be away.”
The slipped outside onto the balcony and Zevran took a moment to savor the smells coming up from the kitchen below. He would miss smells such as these when he returned to Ferelden. They climbed down the outside of the building, dropped noiselessly onto the cobblestones and melted into the shadows of the kitchen courtyard.
As they left the courtyard a figure stepped from shadow and held out his hands, palms facing upwards.
Zevran stopped more than a body length away from the man and greeted him. “Good evening, Sebastian.”
“It is good to see you are still alive, Zevran.”
Zevran raised a brow, aware the gesture may go unnoticed in the dark alleyway. “Oh?”
“Have you heard that Remehe is dead?”
Zevran felt Juilden shifting behind him and his back crawled, but he did not turn his head. He spoke directly to Sebastian. “I have. Are you here to exchange rumor and gossip, Sebastian, or have you another purpose in mind?”
“I am here with a message. The guild master would speak with you.”
Zevran made a dismissive gesture. “Well I am a little busy right now. Perhaps I can fit him in tomorrow sometime, yes?”
Sebastian drew in a sharp breath.
“Sebastian, I am no longer a Crow, I am not subject to the master’s whims.”
“You will always be a Crow, Zevran.” Sebastian lifted his chin to indicate Juilden standing further back. “Even your brother is still a Crow, albeit a dead one.”
“Are we done here, or do you have more messages?”
Sebastian looked annoyed. “This war has culled both organizations. The master wishes to make you an offer. I would consider it, Zevran, for your sake and for the life of your brother.” Sebastian lowered his voice. “Word is he plans to offer you Remehe’s place. Why, for the life of me, I cannot understand. Perhaps the simple fact you are still alive proves your worth.”
It was Zevran’s turn to draw in a sharp breath. A position as second in the Crows? The very idea of it made his head spin for a moment. He tilted his head. “That is a pretty lure you dangle there, Sebastian. Do you really expect it to work?”
Sebastian laughed. “I told him you’d say that and he agreed that you would. But here I am anyway, delivering the message. Go get yourself killed tonight, Zevran, see if I care. With you out of the way, perhaps I might be looking at the position myself.”
Sebastian turned away from him, walked a few steps and then looked back. “You do know that if you refuse his invitation you can never come back to Antiva? You or your brother.”
Zevran nodded. He did not intend it as a dismissive gesture and it did not seem to be taken as one. Sebastian returned the nod and melted into the shadows.
Zevran turned to Juilden. Juilden shrugged. “What say you?”
Zevran let out a deep, heartfelt sigh. He didn’t want to think about this now, let alone talk about it, but they had to, this potentially meant both their lives. He looked at his brother and said, “I see two choices, Juilden, what do you see?”
Juilden grunted. “We lead the Crows or we leave Antiva forever.”
Zevran smiled and clapped his brother on the shoulder. “We share blood after all brother! I have to say, I am torn. It is not every day an opportunity like this falls into your lap. With me as second and you at my side, who knows, Juilden, we could rule this city by the end of the year.”
“That we could, Zevran. The question is: do you want to?”
It was tempting, so tempting. It represented everything a younger Zevran could have wanted. A younger Zevran - that was the sticking point in his mind. His life had followed a radically different path than what he had planned. He thought of his life in Ferelden, what he had so recently left behind and drew in a deep breath. He felt a pull. Interestingly, the face that first came to mind was Leliana’s. They had much in common and they had often talked about what it was like to put their pasts behind them. Though they had never shared the gritty details, they had seen it in one another’s eyes. Yet she was happy, blissfully so, she radiated with it. Zevran often envied her sense of peace and he knew it was not entirely due to her faith in the Maker; it was more internal than that. He shook his head and looked up to find Juilden looking at him with a sympathetic expression.
Zevran made possibly the most honest response of his entire life. “I truly don’t know.”
Shaking himself out, he regrouped. “I am here on a job, Juilden. I have to do that first. I gave my word to an honorable man, two honorable men. I will see this through and then,” he shrugged, “who knows. Let us see what tomorrow holds.”
Juilden nodded firmly. “A sound plan.”
Anora Mac Tir enjoyed the hospitality of Baron Eresan, who maintained a city residence in the palace district. On foot it would take them about an hour to traverse the city toward the palace. The two rogues slipped from shadow to shadow, not quite running but moving faster than a walk. They were perhaps halfway when Juilden stopped and grabbed at Zevran’s arm. He jerked his head upwards and the pair of them immediately looked for a way to scale the next building, pulling themselves up a drainpipe and swinging over a balcony. Zevran jumped for the gutter and soundlessly pulled himself up onto the slate tile. Juilden followed. They lay flat and barely breathed.
An untrained ear would not have heard the feet that passed below them. The residents of the house they lay upon would have no idea that between ten and twelve assassins had slipped past their walls. Juilden and Zevran heard them and they stayed still for half an hour afterwards as a precaution.
The traveled the rooftops for a while after that, dropping back down to the ground only when the streets widened into avenues and they could no longer leap the gaps between gutters.
Baron Eresan’s residence was an imposing three story structure surrounded by a high stone wall and formal gardens. Zevran and Juilden slipped into the shadow of the wall and moved around it looking for a way in. One section of the wall seemed rough enough to provide hand and foot holds and the two rogues scaled the wall and dropped silently into the gardens below. They crept toward the house and once again looked for a way in. Zevran absently rubbed at his hands. He’d not had to do this much climbing in Ferelden. If he could chuckle silently at that thought, he would. And so once again they climbed, swinging from stone to railing to pipe until they reached the third story of the house. Zevran liked to start at the top and work his way down.
Juilden produced his thieves’ tools and within seconds they had gained entrance to the house. Zevran had not expected to get this far, this easily. An uneasy feeling swirled in his gut. The house sat too quiet, too still. Zevran glanced and Juilden and if such words could be transferred by thought alone, that is what he did. Juilden nodded, he understood.
The room they entered appeared to be unused. The furnishings were covered by drop cloths and the walls were bare. They crept to the door and listened. Zevran tried the handle and it turned easily in his hand. The hallway stood silent and dark and Zevran could sense no presence out there. In fact it felt as if the entire third floor of the house was deserted.
Zevran and Juilden exercised proper caution, however, and crept slowly to the staircase. They descended to the second level and began checking doors and rooms. The third room they checked was occupied and closer inspection revealed an elderly man in the bed and the two assassins carefully left the room and continued down the hallway.
They found Anora in the last bedroom, a large suite situated at the corner of the building. Ironically, they had used her balcony to ascend to the roof.
Juilden had selected a special poison for this situation and he applied it silently to their daggers now. Zevran nodded over his prepared blade and stepped to the bed, Juilden stepped to the other side. Anora lay with her head turned sideways, her neck exposed. Zevran touched his blade below her ear, the edge so keen she might not have even felt it. It was only a small wound, a single drop of blood, enough to ensure the poison entered her body. Zevran sat on the bed and Juilden hovered on the other side.
As the mattress shifted slightly beneath is weight, Anora opened her eyes. She saw Zevran immediately and gasped. “You!”
Zevran smiled down at her. “Am I not who you were expecting?”
Anora blinked a few times and Zevran could see her throat working. The poison would be making it difficult for her to swallow. She tried to raise her arms and flopped about a bit in panic as she realised her body did not respond properly.
“If you remain calm, the poison will move more slowly.” Juilden had selected the very same poison that had been used on Aedan when Leliana had been kidnapped soon after the Blight. When used precisely, it rendered the victim paralyzed, but conscious for a time. Excessive excitement would stop the heart. Aedan had barely survived it, in part due to his constitution and in part due to careful dosage. Zevran prayed Juilden had calculated as well.
Anora began to draw deep, measured breaths. Zevran took the time to study the exiled queen. She looked well, considering. Obviously she had enjoyed the hospitality of Baron Eresan and had wanted for little during her exile. Her hair retained a luster and her skin flushed with health. The colour in her cheeks heightened a moment only to slowly drain away as her body succumbed to the poison.
After a few moments she spoke again. “So, Alistair finally found a use for his pet assassin. Is his warden guarding his back while you do his dirty work?”
“You are still bitter, I see.”
“I will be forever bitter! The bastard killed my father and stole my throne.” Her voice rasped softly, but Zevran could hear the venom in her tone.
“Actually, ‘his warden’ killed your father.” Zevran corrected. “But I did not come all this way reminisce. I’m much rather talk about who paid for your Brethren assassins.”
But Anora was not yet ready to be directed. “I would rather talk about how Aedan Cousland survived slaying the archdemon. I’m not sure that matter was ever put to rest, was it? The only person to properly question the Hero of Ferelden lies dead.” Anora referred to Damien, the former Warden Commander of Orlais, who was indeed dead. Aedan had not meant to kill the Orlesian, it had been unavoidable at the time. Damien had been proved a traitor to the order, however, and peaceful relations continued to exist between the Wardens of both nations.
“Perhaps you have sent your assassins after the wrong man then?” Zevran raised a brow. “Or perhaps your patron is more interested in Alistair? What is your agenda, Anora?”
Anora cackled, it might have been a laugh had she not had to struggle against the poison. “My ‘patron’ as you put it is more interested in you, Zevran. You will have to put your questions to him. Removing Alistair would only have been my first step. Do you think me unintelligent enough not to realize the Landsmeet would likely crown The Hero of Ferelden in his stead? Aedan is next. This was promised to me and you have made it come true.”
Zevran had two reactions to this. The first was laughter and he indulged himself with a quiet chuckle. The thought of the Landsmeet trying to crown Aedan tickled him greatly. The companions had had a hard enough time convincing Alistair to take the throne and he was fairly certain Aedan would rather walk the Deep Roads for eternity than take Alistair’s place. His second reaction consisted of a mixture of fear and curiosity. Curiosity won out, but he decided to explain his chuckle first.
“You know, Anora, the man you despise so much is the only reason you are alive. Aedan is the one that stayed Alistair’s hand and begged clemency on your behalf. I have to say, sending assassins after Alistair has done little to help your cause, however.” Schooling his features into a more serious expression he continued. “I suspect delivering me to your patron will seal Aedan’s fate. Who paid for your assassins Anora? This does not need to end badly for you.” Zevran indicated Juilden who held out a vial. “That is your antidote.”
Anora’s breaths were shorter now and her skin had paled considerably. Zevran knew she could barely blink anymore as the poison swept through her body. That she had lasted this long indeed testified to the coldness in her heart.
“I am not a fool, Zevran. That is not an antidote. Alistair may be a weak man, but you are not. Their fate is up to you now.” She tried to laugh but began to choke and Zevran felt the first tickle of fear that she might die before he found out the identity of her patron. He leaned forward and adjusted the angle of her head a little, clearing her airway.
“Your patron, Anora, and I will grant you a swift death. I will not let the poison suffocate you.”
Fear showed in her eyes then. “It is the Baron, Zevran, but you are too late, he knows you are here.” Her voice wheezed now and her eyes had begun to bulge. She rasped out, “You can’t save your friends now. They are as good as dead.”
Zevran stiffened. If what she said was true, more assassins had already been dispatched to Ferelden and this time they would be after both Alistair and Aedan. This job had become not only more complicated, but now a race against time.
Anora’s body began to spasm and her lips started to take on a bluish tinge. Her eyes pleaded with him and Zevran saw no reason not to comply. He did not particularly enjoy watching someone suffer; a clean death was always preferable. He stood, unsheathed his sword and without hesitation swept the blade down across her neck, neatly severing her head. One of the side effects of this particular poison was that the blood crystallized, causing a shutdown of the body’s organs, one by one. Zevran did not know whether this caused the paralysis or not, he did not question the effectiveness of the tools at his disposal. The beauty of this side effect became immediately apparent, however, as no blood ejected from the wound. Anora’s head simply subsided from her body, rolling one turn across the pillow. The crystallized blood would also preserve it for a time, making transportation of the … trophy… more convenient.
Juilden stepped forward and removed a pillow case from the bed and swept the head into it. Zevran looked on quietly as he processed what he had learned from Anora. He took a deep breath and held it. It had become abundantly obvious that there were two agendas here. One to lure him to Antiva and another to remove both Alistair and Aedan from power. It would be up to him to get to the bottom of both matters. As he whistled out his held breath Juilden looked up. “One down, one to go?”
Zevran chuckled. “Seems we might collect two heads tonight, brother. Let us go find this Baron.”
Zevran and Juilden passed the rest of the afternoon in a quiet game of strategy and chance, wagering the flasks, potions and bombs they had collected the evening before. Zevran ended up with all the bombs and Juilden ended up with all the poisons. They were both well satisfied with the outcome.
Cristina dropped in from time to time and bearing food and drinks and both men greeted her warmly.
Juilden looked up after their last game. “Will you take her to your bed tonight?”
“If we live through our visit with Anora, I might have cause to celebrate, no?”
Juilden chuckled. “Should you not look more eager?”
Zevran grinned. “Perhaps I should! Cristina has many worthy attributes.”
As night deepened the time to leave crept upon them and Zevran and Juilden pocketed their supplies, checked their weapons and made ready to move. Cristina’s private apartment was located above the kitchen and at the back of the inn. Zevran indicated the balcony doors. “Let us be away.”
The slipped outside onto the balcony and Zevran took a moment to savor the smells coming up from the kitchen below. He would miss smells such as these when he returned to Ferelden. They climbed down the outside of the building, dropped noiselessly onto the cobblestones and melted into the shadows of the kitchen courtyard.
As they left the courtyard a figure stepped from shadow and held out his hands, palms facing upwards.
Zevran stopped more than a body length away from the man and greeted him. “Good evening, Sebastian.”
“It is good to see you are still alive, Zevran.”
Zevran raised a brow, aware the gesture may go unnoticed in the dark alleyway. “Oh?”
“Have you heard that Remehe is dead?”
Zevran felt Juilden shifting behind him and his back crawled, but he did not turn his head. He spoke directly to Sebastian. “I have. Are you here to exchange rumor and gossip, Sebastian, or have you another purpose in mind?”
“I am here with a message. The guild master would speak with you.”
Zevran made a dismissive gesture. “Well I am a little busy right now. Perhaps I can fit him in tomorrow sometime, yes?”
Sebastian drew in a sharp breath.
“Sebastian, I am no longer a Crow, I am not subject to the master’s whims.”
“You will always be a Crow, Zevran.” Sebastian lifted his chin to indicate Juilden standing further back. “Even your brother is still a Crow, albeit a dead one.”
“Are we done here, or do you have more messages?”
Sebastian looked annoyed. “This war has culled both organizations. The master wishes to make you an offer. I would consider it, Zevran, for your sake and for the life of your brother.” Sebastian lowered his voice. “Word is he plans to offer you Remehe’s place. Why, for the life of me, I cannot understand. Perhaps the simple fact you are still alive proves your worth.”
It was Zevran’s turn to draw in a sharp breath. A position as second in the Crows? The very idea of it made his head spin for a moment. He tilted his head. “That is a pretty lure you dangle there, Sebastian. Do you really expect it to work?”
Sebastian laughed. “I told him you’d say that and he agreed that you would. But here I am anyway, delivering the message. Go get yourself killed tonight, Zevran, see if I care. With you out of the way, perhaps I might be looking at the position myself.”
Sebastian turned away from him, walked a few steps and then looked back. “You do know that if you refuse his invitation you can never come back to Antiva? You or your brother.”
Zevran nodded. He did not intend it as a dismissive gesture and it did not seem to be taken as one. Sebastian returned the nod and melted into the shadows.
Zevran turned to Juilden. Juilden shrugged. “What say you?”
Zevran let out a deep, heartfelt sigh. He didn’t want to think about this now, let alone talk about it, but they had to, this potentially meant both their lives. He looked at his brother and said, “I see two choices, Juilden, what do you see?”
Juilden grunted. “We lead the Crows or we leave Antiva forever.”
Zevran smiled and clapped his brother on the shoulder. “We share blood after all brother! I have to say, I am torn. It is not every day an opportunity like this falls into your lap. With me as second and you at my side, who knows, Juilden, we could rule this city by the end of the year.”
“That we could, Zevran. The question is: do you want to?”
It was tempting, so tempting. It represented everything a younger Zevran could have wanted. A younger Zevran - that was the sticking point in his mind. His life had followed a radically different path than what he had planned. He thought of his life in Ferelden, what he had so recently left behind and drew in a deep breath. He felt a pull. Interestingly, the face that first came to mind was Leliana’s. They had much in common and they had often talked about what it was like to put their pasts behind them. Though they had never shared the gritty details, they had seen it in one another’s eyes. Yet she was happy, blissfully so, she radiated with it. Zevran often envied her sense of peace and he knew it was not entirely due to her faith in the Maker; it was more internal than that. He shook his head and looked up to find Juilden looking at him with a sympathetic expression.
Zevran made possibly the most honest response of his entire life. “I truly don’t know.”
Shaking himself out, he regrouped. “I am here on a job, Juilden. I have to do that first. I gave my word to an honorable man, two honorable men. I will see this through and then,” he shrugged, “who knows. Let us see what tomorrow holds.”
Juilden nodded firmly. “A sound plan.”
Anora Mac Tir enjoyed the hospitality of Baron Eresan, who maintained a city residence in the palace district. On foot it would take them about an hour to traverse the city toward the palace. The two rogues slipped from shadow to shadow, not quite running but moving faster than a walk. They were perhaps halfway when Juilden stopped and grabbed at Zevran’s arm. He jerked his head upwards and the pair of them immediately looked for a way to scale the next building, pulling themselves up a drainpipe and swinging over a balcony. Zevran jumped for the gutter and soundlessly pulled himself up onto the slate tile. Juilden followed. They lay flat and barely breathed.
An untrained ear would not have heard the feet that passed below them. The residents of the house they lay upon would have no idea that between ten and twelve assassins had slipped past their walls. Juilden and Zevran heard them and they stayed still for half an hour afterwards as a precaution.
The traveled the rooftops for a while after that, dropping back down to the ground only when the streets widened into avenues and they could no longer leap the gaps between gutters.
Baron Eresan’s residence was an imposing three story structure surrounded by a high stone wall and formal gardens. Zevran and Juilden slipped into the shadow of the wall and moved around it looking for a way in. One section of the wall seemed rough enough to provide hand and foot holds and the two rogues scaled the wall and dropped silently into the gardens below. They crept toward the house and once again looked for a way in. Zevran absently rubbed at his hands. He’d not had to do this much climbing in Ferelden. If he could chuckle silently at that thought, he would. And so once again they climbed, swinging from stone to railing to pipe until they reached the third story of the house. Zevran liked to start at the top and work his way down.
Juilden produced his thieves’ tools and within seconds they had gained entrance to the house. Zevran had not expected to get this far, this easily. An uneasy feeling swirled in his gut. The house sat too quiet, too still. Zevran glanced and Juilden and if such words could be transferred by thought alone, that is what he did. Juilden nodded, he understood.
The room they entered appeared to be unused. The furnishings were covered by drop cloths and the walls were bare. They crept to the door and listened. Zevran tried the handle and it turned easily in his hand. The hallway stood silent and dark and Zevran could sense no presence out there. In fact it felt as if the entire third floor of the house was deserted.
Zevran and Juilden exercised proper caution, however, and crept slowly to the staircase. They descended to the second level and began checking doors and rooms. The third room they checked was occupied and closer inspection revealed an elderly man in the bed and the two assassins carefully left the room and continued down the hallway.
They found Anora in the last bedroom, a large suite situated at the corner of the building. Ironically, they had used her balcony to ascend to the roof.
Juilden had selected a special poison for this situation and he applied it silently to their daggers now. Zevran nodded over his prepared blade and stepped to the bed, Juilden stepped to the other side. Anora lay with her head turned sideways, her neck exposed. Zevran touched his blade below her ear, the edge so keen she might not have even felt it. It was only a small wound, a single drop of blood, enough to ensure the poison entered her body. Zevran sat on the bed and Juilden hovered on the other side.
As the mattress shifted slightly beneath is weight, Anora opened her eyes. She saw Zevran immediately and gasped. “You!”
Zevran smiled down at her. “Am I not who you were expecting?”
Anora blinked a few times and Zevran could see her throat working. The poison would be making it difficult for her to swallow. She tried to raise her arms and flopped about a bit in panic as she realised her body did not respond properly.
“If you remain calm, the poison will move more slowly.” Juilden had selected the very same poison that had been used on Aedan when Leliana had been kidnapped soon after the Blight. When used precisely, it rendered the victim paralyzed, but conscious for a time. Excessive excitement would stop the heart. Aedan had barely survived it, in part due to his constitution and in part due to careful dosage. Zevran prayed Juilden had calculated as well.
Anora began to draw deep, measured breaths. Zevran took the time to study the exiled queen. She looked well, considering. Obviously she had enjoyed the hospitality of Baron Eresan and had wanted for little during her exile. Her hair retained a luster and her skin flushed with health. The colour in her cheeks heightened a moment only to slowly drain away as her body succumbed to the poison.
After a few moments she spoke again. “So, Alistair finally found a use for his pet assassin. Is his warden guarding his back while you do his dirty work?”
“You are still bitter, I see.”
“I will be forever bitter! The bastard killed my father and stole my throne.” Her voice rasped softly, but Zevran could hear the venom in her tone.
“Actually, ‘his warden’ killed your father.” Zevran corrected. “But I did not come all this way reminisce. I’m much rather talk about who paid for your Brethren assassins.”
But Anora was not yet ready to be directed. “I would rather talk about how Aedan Cousland survived slaying the archdemon. I’m not sure that matter was ever put to rest, was it? The only person to properly question the Hero of Ferelden lies dead.” Anora referred to Damien, the former Warden Commander of Orlais, who was indeed dead. Aedan had not meant to kill the Orlesian, it had been unavoidable at the time. Damien had been proved a traitor to the order, however, and peaceful relations continued to exist between the Wardens of both nations.
“Perhaps you have sent your assassins after the wrong man then?” Zevran raised a brow. “Or perhaps your patron is more interested in Alistair? What is your agenda, Anora?”
Anora cackled, it might have been a laugh had she not had to struggle against the poison. “My ‘patron’ as you put it is more interested in you, Zevran. You will have to put your questions to him. Removing Alistair would only have been my first step. Do you think me unintelligent enough not to realize the Landsmeet would likely crown The Hero of Ferelden in his stead? Aedan is next. This was promised to me and you have made it come true.”
Zevran had two reactions to this. The first was laughter and he indulged himself with a quiet chuckle. The thought of the Landsmeet trying to crown Aedan tickled him greatly. The companions had had a hard enough time convincing Alistair to take the throne and he was fairly certain Aedan would rather walk the Deep Roads for eternity than take Alistair’s place. His second reaction consisted of a mixture of fear and curiosity. Curiosity won out, but he decided to explain his chuckle first.
“You know, Anora, the man you despise so much is the only reason you are alive. Aedan is the one that stayed Alistair’s hand and begged clemency on your behalf. I have to say, sending assassins after Alistair has done little to help your cause, however.” Schooling his features into a more serious expression he continued. “I suspect delivering me to your patron will seal Aedan’s fate. Who paid for your assassins Anora? This does not need to end badly for you.” Zevran indicated Juilden who held out a vial. “That is your antidote.”
Anora’s breaths were shorter now and her skin had paled considerably. Zevran knew she could barely blink anymore as the poison swept through her body. That she had lasted this long indeed testified to the coldness in her heart.
“I am not a fool, Zevran. That is not an antidote. Alistair may be a weak man, but you are not. Their fate is up to you now.” She tried to laugh but began to choke and Zevran felt the first tickle of fear that she might die before he found out the identity of her patron. He leaned forward and adjusted the angle of her head a little, clearing her airway.
“Your patron, Anora, and I will grant you a swift death. I will not let the poison suffocate you.”
Fear showed in her eyes then. “It is the Baron, Zevran, but you are too late, he knows you are here.” Her voice wheezed now and her eyes had begun to bulge. She rasped out, “You can’t save your friends now. They are as good as dead.”
Zevran stiffened. If what she said was true, more assassins had already been dispatched to Ferelden and this time they would be after both Alistair and Aedan. This job had become not only more complicated, but now a race against time.
Anora’s body began to spasm and her lips started to take on a bluish tinge. Her eyes pleaded with him and Zevran saw no reason not to comply. He did not particularly enjoy watching someone suffer; a clean death was always preferable. He stood, unsheathed his sword and without hesitation swept the blade down across her neck, neatly severing her head. One of the side effects of this particular poison was that the blood crystallized, causing a shutdown of the body’s organs, one by one. Zevran did not know whether this caused the paralysis or not, he did not question the effectiveness of the tools at his disposal. The beauty of this side effect became immediately apparent, however, as no blood ejected from the wound. Anora’s head simply subsided from her body, rolling one turn across the pillow. The crystallized blood would also preserve it for a time, making transportation of the … trophy… more convenient.
Juilden stepped forward and removed a pillow case from the bed and swept the head into it. Zevran looked on quietly as he processed what he had learned from Anora. He took a deep breath and held it. It had become abundantly obvious that there were two agendas here. One to lure him to Antiva and another to remove both Alistair and Aedan from power. It would be up to him to get to the bottom of both matters. As he whistled out his held breath Juilden looked up. “One down, one to go?”
Zevran chuckled. “Seems we might collect two heads tonight, brother. Let us go find this Baron.”
#707
Posté 13 avril 2010 - 04:34
Miliat
-
- Members
- 248 messages
The plot thickens, quite like the blood in Anora's dead body.
#708
Posté 13 avril 2010 - 04:47
bob-san
-
- Members
- 64 messages
Hmmm, more beyond the initial 5? Time for a race against the clock.
#709
Posté 13 avril 2010 - 05:53
FerreusVir
-
- Members
- 27 messages
Zev may be a flippant playboy...but the last thing I'd ever do is threaten someone/something he cares about.
Even IF the assassins make it to Ferelden, Zev is going to be right behind them.
Even IF the assassins make it to Ferelden, Zev is going to be right behind them.
#710
Posté 13 avril 2010 - 06:31
Maximus741000
-
- Members
- 239 messages
Man... that chapter was intense, I knew you would eventually deal with Anora, but it still chilled my blood. I wonder what Zev's plan is to stop those assassins, regardless i look forward to it.
#711
Posté 13 avril 2010 - 07:41
Sandtigress
-
- Members
- 3 967 messages
Sisimka wrote...
Don't worry, Zev's ON it.
Zev, pleeaaaaaaase don't let another assassin shoot Alistair! My poor heart just couldn't take it! I'll think of a proper reward for you if you do, and no, not THAT so you can just stop thinking it right now!
#712
Posté 13 avril 2010 - 08:02
Sisimka
-
- Members
- 935 messages
Sandtigress wrote...
Sisimka wrote...
Don't worry, Zev's ON it.
Zev, pleeaaaaaaase don't let another assassin shoot Alistair! My poor heart just couldn't take it! I'll think of a proper reward for you if you do, and no, not THAT so you can just stop thinking it right now!
You know he's looking like that... just. like. that.
#713
Posté 13 avril 2010 - 08:51
Kallian13
-
- Members
- 90 messages
Sandtigress wrote...
Sisimka wrote...
Don't worry, Zev's ON it.
Zev, pleeaaaaaaase don't let another assassin shoot Alistair! My poor heart just couldn't take it! I'll think of a proper reward for you if you do, and no, not THAT so you can just stop thinking it right now!
*giggles* But thats the best form of reward
Awesome chapter Sisi<3 Zev to the rescue!
#714
Posté 14 avril 2010 - 12:26
Olwaye
-
- Members
- 384 messages
So the witch is dead, which old witch? The wicked witch!
Nice one Sisi, makes everybody remember rule one : don't **** with Zevran
unless he wants you to
Fluff week does look quite far away doesn't it?
Rest in peace Anora, you're not queen of Ferelden in that one, might get luckier next time
, no hard feelings, I always liked you, but Sisi he's the master here.
Nice one Sisi, makes everybody remember rule one : don't **** with Zevran
unless he wants you toFluff week does look quite far away doesn't it?
Rest in peace Anora, you're not queen of Ferelden in that one, might get luckier next time
, no hard feelings, I always liked you, but Sisi he's the master here.
#715
Posté 14 avril 2010 - 06:10
FerreusVir
-
- Members
- 27 messages
Even IF the assassins get to Ferelden, Aedan is so hardcore right now he'd stomp'em all flat.
Great chapter Sisi, meant to say that in the last post but was overwhelmed with the awesome.
Great chapter Sisi, meant to say that in the last post but was overwhelmed with the awesome.
#716
Posté 14 avril 2010 - 11:25
Sisimka
-
- Members
- 935 messages
Thought you'd all be interested to know that I dreamed about Zevran last night. Unfortunately, it was not that sort of dream. He and Juilden were sneaking through a house looking for a suitable box to put Anora's head in. Weird, I know! Perhaps I felt guilty about having killed Anora for the second time.
Just so you all know, I personally don't harborany much hate for Anora. Sometimes I can even muster quite a bit of sympathy for her. She just made a convenient villain in this story. I have actually written possibly the most fluffy and nice piece about Anora that exists in the fandom, but I can't publish it here... 
Zev's in for some twists and turns today, I'll see if I can see a straight line through them and get a chapter posted! Thanks to you all for reading and commenting!
Just so you all know, I personally don't harbor
Zev's in for some twists and turns today, I'll see if I can see a straight line through them and get a chapter posted! Thanks to you all for reading and commenting!
#717
Posté 14 avril 2010 - 02:32
FerreusVir
-
- Members
- 27 messages
Anora get's under my skin, especially when she says that you 'kidnapped' her from Denerim when confronted by Ser Cautherine. Also, any woman who just 'let's' the man responsible for the death of her husband take control of EVERYTHING she's worked so hard to create is a weak-willed fool, she should have taken a stand against Loghain./rant
Modifié par FerreusVir, 14 avril 2010 - 02:33 .
#718
Posté 14 avril 2010 - 02:58
bob-san
-
- Members
- 64 messages
I've not yet formed any opinion of her since I'm not that far still (Been doing all the little side quests). So I'm not sure how I feel about her. Though, after having read The Stolen Throne (And working on The Calling), I'm sure I'll ****** her off since I'll be having Alistair take care of Logain. Based on what I've gleamed about him from TST, him dying at Alistair's hands is justice in Logain's eyes.
So you Anora fluff is...a not for the eyes of the youngin's kind? Hmmm, now I'm curious.
And I shall eagerly await more Zev as it will make for a welcome reprieve from the chaos that is my current day at work.
So you Anora fluff is...a not for the eyes of the youngin's kind? Hmmm, now I'm curious.
And I shall eagerly await more Zev as it will make for a welcome reprieve from the chaos that is my current day at work.
#719
Posté 14 avril 2010 - 04:26
Sisimka
-
- Members
- 935 messages
Chapter Eight
Zevran looked across Anora’s dead body at his brother. He nodded toward the balcony. “They’ll be waiting for me, us, downstairs. Why don’t you surprise them?”
Juilden thought for a moment and then nodded in return. “I will be at your back, Zevran.”
Juilden picked up the pillowcase and headed for the glass doors and Zevran sheathed his weapons and turned toward the hallway door. He glanced back over his shoulder once to watch Juilden step out onto the balcony and melt into the night before turning the handle and stepping into the hall. As before, the hallway was deserted, still and dark. Zevran pondered the elderly man they had seen in one of the rooms and wondered if that had maybe been the baron. Knowing the location of that room already he proceeded to check the rest of the rooms on the second level of the house first, and confirmed that they were all empty. There was altogether too much emptiness in this house and it bothered him. He decided to go downstairs before investigating the other occupied bedroom.
There were two staircases, one for the servants and one for the family. Zevran decided to take the main, formal staircase, he tired of the hunt and the chase. He’d reached the halfway point when a voice greeted him from below.
“Ah, Zevran, good of you to join us at last.”
The man standing in the grand foyer looked vaguely familiar and Zevran felt a flutter of something, not fear, stir in his gut. A memory, perhaps. Zevran did not check his stride and kept his expression neutral as he continued his descent. As he placed his first foot on the marbled floor of the foyer, three more figures melted from the shadows behind this man. Assassins, but unknown to Zevran. The four rogues exchanged professional looks and subtly maneuvered into easy postures, Zevran before the man, the three assassins behind. Zevran wondered if he was outmatched and found himself fervently praying Juilden still lurked outside the building somewhere, or perhaps already inside, somewhere… helpful.
“I am Baron Eresan, but you know that, yes? You accepted my invitation, after all.”
“Indeed I did.” Zevran dipped his head in an approximation of a bow, his eyes never leaving the Baron’s face.
“I trust your business with Anora is concluded?” The baron raised a single manicured brow.
“I must thank you for arranging a private meeting, Baron. Not everyone has your… discretion.” Zevran allowed his eyes to flick from one assassin to another before adding, “I don’t suppose we might enjoy the same privacy?”
The Baron chuckled. “I think not.” He gestured to the side. “Come, let us retire to my den and discuss business.”
Zevran actually felt somewhat relaxed as he widely skirted the group of men and preceded them into the indicated room. The chase had ended and he hadn’t had to climb anything else yet. He had no doubt he would have to draw his blades before the end of this meeting, but for the time being he cleared his mind and sharpened his wit for a round of mental sparring.
Zevran crossed the small room and selected a simple upholstered chair that sat nearest the tall windows. He perched on the edge of the seat and watched as the baron settled himself on the couch with his three men arrayed behind him.
“I would offer refreshment if I thought it likely you would accept.”
“The sentiment is appreciated, of course.” Zevran replied civilly. “I would not wish to appear rude, but perhaps we could dispense with the small talk and get to this ‘business’ you wish to discuss?”
“You really do not know why I had you brought to Antiva, do you?”
Zevran spread his hands. “I can think of several reasons, I know which one I would prefer.”
The baron raised that slender brow again. He was an effeminate looking man, slight and well groomed. He looked to be in his fifties, but fit, a man who looked after his body and his mind. “Please, for my amusement, would you enlighten me?”
“You are a gracious host, yes? Perhaps you have invited me here to laud my prowess as an assassin and wish to give me a very special assignment!” Zevran smiled at his joke and the baron nodded appreciatively before slapping his hands together and rubbing them against one another.
“A fair jest. Tell me, Zevran, do you remember an assignment undertaken shortly before you left Antiva to rub shoulders with the Ferelden nobility?”
Zevran brought to mind his last few assignations, surprised that the details of one or two remained sketchy. He found it easier to recollect his last three years in Ferelden, and the more pleasant memories there. He tilted his head. “I juggled many contracts before I left Antiva. To which to you refer?”
“That little business involving a certain prince.”
Zevran’s mind immediately snapped to the assignment. He had worked with Taliesin on that particular job. The contract had specified that they take the life of one of the younger princes who had proven to be rather too ambitious. Unusually, they were to arrange it to look like an accident and fortune had smiled upon them. They had stumbled upon the prince in a ‘private’ moment with a woman who was not his wife. They had killed both of them, arranging the evidence to look like a lovers’ quarrel and had been about to leave when the prince’s wife entered the bed chamber. She had taken in the situation and fainted dead away.
Zevran did not like collateral damage, he thought it a messy business. As he contemplated what had taken place next he remembered a conversation he’d had with Aedan where the warrior had asked him about killing an innocent. He had thought of the prince’s wife as he had made his answer and he thought of her now. He had hesitated. That hesitation had bothered him at the time and would continue to bother him forever afterwards. Perhaps he’d never been a proper and fit assassin? He’d hesitated and she’d come around just before he ran his blade down her wrists in cuts that would approximate suicide. He’d had to listen to her pleas and watched her struggles as her lifeblood pooled about her on the floor. It hadn’t been long after that he’d stood by while Taliesin killed Rinna, the first woman to capture his heart. No wonder he’d gone to Ferelden with every intention of dying.
A cold lump formed in the pit of his stomach and Zevran swallowed before he made his answer, his tension lending an odd flippancy to his words. “Ah, the contract was yours? I take it you were not pleased with the outcome. I had thought it all rather satisfactory myself.”
“As did the one who ordered that contract. I, however, was less than pleased with the death of my daughter.” The baron dropped all pretense of friendliness now and it seemed as if the temperature in the room dropped by several degrees.
“You have my apologies, Baron. These things do not always go as planned.”
The baron made no reply but continued to stare at him coldly and for once Zevran felt compelled to fill the silence.
“Perhaps her death was not entirely necessary, but we Crows take no precautions. I took no joy in her death.” Zevran wondered if his daughter had been the mistress or the princess, though he tended toward the latter.
“That you killed her… well,” the baron paused and blinked a moment before his expression hardened and his eyes flashed, “But to make it look like suicide. That I cannot forgive.”
Zevran made no response. What could he say?
“I hope you have enjoyed our little game, Zevran. It took quite some arranging. My one regret will be that you will not get to see your friends die. But perhaps that experience is overrated. I’m sure you have an active imagination.”
That he did. The baron must refer to the extra assassins that had been dispatched to Ferelden. He should not have come here. He should have stayed at Alistair’s side and protected the king from harm. Did Alistair still live? Did Aedan? Contemplating their deaths caused Zevran an unaccountable sorrow and he despised the feeling. His friendships were a weakness that could be exploited. A part of him felt ready to resign then and there, to admit defeat and meet his fate. A fitting culmination to the growing list of failures in his wake. Then he remembered his unfinished tasks, and unfulfilled promises and his spine straightened and Zevran felt a purpose and a desire to live, if not just to put this chapter of his life behind him.
“Alistair and Aedan are well equipped to take care of any additional assassins you may have sent.” He tried to infer that the original five had already been taken care of.
“On a first name basis with the king are you? I am impressed. As to these additional assassins, none have been sent. Does that comfort you? The opposite thought seemed t comfort Anora somewhat. I aim to please.”
“You are not a man of your word then, Baron? I am surprised!” But relieved, Zevran did not add.
The baron did not answer, he merely gestured the assassins behind him. The three of them drew their weapons and stepped around the couch. Zevran stood and drew his weapons. He would not go down without a fight. The baron stood and gave a half bow.
“If you gentlemen will excuse me, I must go attend to my father.” The old man in the bed upstairs... He glanced at the assassins and added, “Try not to destroy the room entirely.” He left the room as the three rogues moved toward Zevran in a circling pattern.
Zevran’s dagger was still poisoned so his strategy would be to make a strike, any strike, where he could and hope that enough poison entered the wound to debilitate his opponent. He also hoped that Juilden would soon make an appearance. Zevran flexed his knees and waited for them to attack. Two came at once, from the sides while the third held back, awaiting the outcome. Sensible, really, Zevran’s mind noted. There wasn’t enough of him for three men to effectively engage. Smiling at his thoughts Zevran engaged, sweeping his blades in two different directions to block both men at the same time before spinning to the side and placing himself squarely in front of one of them. He could not fight two men at once.
A pair of blades crossed before him and instead of leaning back, Zevran chanced to duck below them, feeling the rush of air over his head. He swept his dagger across the exposed knee of the man before him and quickly stood again to meet the man’s interested expression. Zevran laughed and lifted his blades before him in whirlwind maneuver as both men closed in before him. The room spun in a clash of steel and Zevran felt the skin part on one of his arms. It stung, pain was good, it usually meant no poison. When he faced his opponents again, only one remained standing, the other had succumbed to the poison and had collapsed. The third man stepped forward to take his place. Zevran ducked and parried both of them for a time, surprising even himself with the number of blows he managed to catch, but he could not get a hit in. He needed a plan.
Launching another flurry he took small sideways steps until he felt he had the distance required and then he broke and ran. He leapt to the top of the desk and sliced down at his attackers, trying for their heads and their necks. Blood ran freely down his arm and he could feel the grip of his sword sticking to his palm. One of the assassins got a blow in against his knee, numbing it, and Zevran moved back across the desk. He managed a low sweep at a neck and watched as another of the men fell beside the desk leaving him with a single opponent. Leaping from the desk, he stumbled a moment as his knee threatened to buckle beneath him and noticed also that his banged wrist had started to ache. The slice across his arm had stiffened and Zevran tried to shake off his injuries as he advanced upon the final assassin.
They were well matched and traded many strikes and parries before each settled into an easy stance across from one another. The assassin spoke. “More of my brothers wait outside for you. I could give you a quick death, you have proven yourself a worthy opponent.”
“Now is not the time for conversation, my friend.” Zevran launched himself at his opponent, striking forward before spinning back on himself and ducking low, sweeping in with his blade. He heard a grunt as the keen edge pierced the leather and uttered a hiss himself as he felt the same sting across his shoulder. Disengaging he kicked backwards and turned again to face the assassin raising his blades for a flurry. His kick had dropped the man’s head and so Zevran crossed his blades and sliced over the exposed neck. The body dropped to the ground.
Standing there, panting, his ears ringing, Zevran looked over the bodies before him. He hurt, his wounds had stiffened and fatigue had started to settle into his bones. He did not relish the thought of what might wait outside. Perhaps he would visit with the baron first? Zevran wiped his blades over the back of the couch and left the room at a sprint. He took the stairs two at a time to the landing and ran down the hall to the room occupied by the elderly man. He burst through the door with no subtlety whatsoever and blinked into the darkness. The room was empty.
Whirling, he ran to Anora’s room and through the open balcony doors. He would not waste any more time on this baron, that would only further distract him from his mission. For now, he wanted to find Juilden, collect Anora’s head and meet with the guild master. Then, perhaps he might actually sail back to Ferelden to deliver his gift to Alistair. Zevran chuckled as he thought of the appropriateness of his wedding gift. Gruesome yes, but also fitting. The chuckle died on his lips as he dropped from the balcony and into the small group of bodies below.
Zevran looked across Anora’s dead body at his brother. He nodded toward the balcony. “They’ll be waiting for me, us, downstairs. Why don’t you surprise them?”
Juilden thought for a moment and then nodded in return. “I will be at your back, Zevran.”
Juilden picked up the pillowcase and headed for the glass doors and Zevran sheathed his weapons and turned toward the hallway door. He glanced back over his shoulder once to watch Juilden step out onto the balcony and melt into the night before turning the handle and stepping into the hall. As before, the hallway was deserted, still and dark. Zevran pondered the elderly man they had seen in one of the rooms and wondered if that had maybe been the baron. Knowing the location of that room already he proceeded to check the rest of the rooms on the second level of the house first, and confirmed that they were all empty. There was altogether too much emptiness in this house and it bothered him. He decided to go downstairs before investigating the other occupied bedroom.
There were two staircases, one for the servants and one for the family. Zevran decided to take the main, formal staircase, he tired of the hunt and the chase. He’d reached the halfway point when a voice greeted him from below.
“Ah, Zevran, good of you to join us at last.”
The man standing in the grand foyer looked vaguely familiar and Zevran felt a flutter of something, not fear, stir in his gut. A memory, perhaps. Zevran did not check his stride and kept his expression neutral as he continued his descent. As he placed his first foot on the marbled floor of the foyer, three more figures melted from the shadows behind this man. Assassins, but unknown to Zevran. The four rogues exchanged professional looks and subtly maneuvered into easy postures, Zevran before the man, the three assassins behind. Zevran wondered if he was outmatched and found himself fervently praying Juilden still lurked outside the building somewhere, or perhaps already inside, somewhere… helpful.
“I am Baron Eresan, but you know that, yes? You accepted my invitation, after all.”
“Indeed I did.” Zevran dipped his head in an approximation of a bow, his eyes never leaving the Baron’s face.
“I trust your business with Anora is concluded?” The baron raised a single manicured brow.
“I must thank you for arranging a private meeting, Baron. Not everyone has your… discretion.” Zevran allowed his eyes to flick from one assassin to another before adding, “I don’t suppose we might enjoy the same privacy?”
The Baron chuckled. “I think not.” He gestured to the side. “Come, let us retire to my den and discuss business.”
Zevran actually felt somewhat relaxed as he widely skirted the group of men and preceded them into the indicated room. The chase had ended and he hadn’t had to climb anything else yet. He had no doubt he would have to draw his blades before the end of this meeting, but for the time being he cleared his mind and sharpened his wit for a round of mental sparring.
Zevran crossed the small room and selected a simple upholstered chair that sat nearest the tall windows. He perched on the edge of the seat and watched as the baron settled himself on the couch with his three men arrayed behind him.
“I would offer refreshment if I thought it likely you would accept.”
“The sentiment is appreciated, of course.” Zevran replied civilly. “I would not wish to appear rude, but perhaps we could dispense with the small talk and get to this ‘business’ you wish to discuss?”
“You really do not know why I had you brought to Antiva, do you?”
Zevran spread his hands. “I can think of several reasons, I know which one I would prefer.”
The baron raised that slender brow again. He was an effeminate looking man, slight and well groomed. He looked to be in his fifties, but fit, a man who looked after his body and his mind. “Please, for my amusement, would you enlighten me?”
“You are a gracious host, yes? Perhaps you have invited me here to laud my prowess as an assassin and wish to give me a very special assignment!” Zevran smiled at his joke and the baron nodded appreciatively before slapping his hands together and rubbing them against one another.
“A fair jest. Tell me, Zevran, do you remember an assignment undertaken shortly before you left Antiva to rub shoulders with the Ferelden nobility?”
Zevran brought to mind his last few assignations, surprised that the details of one or two remained sketchy. He found it easier to recollect his last three years in Ferelden, and the more pleasant memories there. He tilted his head. “I juggled many contracts before I left Antiva. To which to you refer?”
“That little business involving a certain prince.”
Zevran’s mind immediately snapped to the assignment. He had worked with Taliesin on that particular job. The contract had specified that they take the life of one of the younger princes who had proven to be rather too ambitious. Unusually, they were to arrange it to look like an accident and fortune had smiled upon them. They had stumbled upon the prince in a ‘private’ moment with a woman who was not his wife. They had killed both of them, arranging the evidence to look like a lovers’ quarrel and had been about to leave when the prince’s wife entered the bed chamber. She had taken in the situation and fainted dead away.
Zevran did not like collateral damage, he thought it a messy business. As he contemplated what had taken place next he remembered a conversation he’d had with Aedan where the warrior had asked him about killing an innocent. He had thought of the prince’s wife as he had made his answer and he thought of her now. He had hesitated. That hesitation had bothered him at the time and would continue to bother him forever afterwards. Perhaps he’d never been a proper and fit assassin? He’d hesitated and she’d come around just before he ran his blade down her wrists in cuts that would approximate suicide. He’d had to listen to her pleas and watched her struggles as her lifeblood pooled about her on the floor. It hadn’t been long after that he’d stood by while Taliesin killed Rinna, the first woman to capture his heart. No wonder he’d gone to Ferelden with every intention of dying.
A cold lump formed in the pit of his stomach and Zevran swallowed before he made his answer, his tension lending an odd flippancy to his words. “Ah, the contract was yours? I take it you were not pleased with the outcome. I had thought it all rather satisfactory myself.”
“As did the one who ordered that contract. I, however, was less than pleased with the death of my daughter.” The baron dropped all pretense of friendliness now and it seemed as if the temperature in the room dropped by several degrees.
“You have my apologies, Baron. These things do not always go as planned.”
The baron made no reply but continued to stare at him coldly and for once Zevran felt compelled to fill the silence.
“Perhaps her death was not entirely necessary, but we Crows take no precautions. I took no joy in her death.” Zevran wondered if his daughter had been the mistress or the princess, though he tended toward the latter.
“That you killed her… well,” the baron paused and blinked a moment before his expression hardened and his eyes flashed, “But to make it look like suicide. That I cannot forgive.”
Zevran made no response. What could he say?
“I hope you have enjoyed our little game, Zevran. It took quite some arranging. My one regret will be that you will not get to see your friends die. But perhaps that experience is overrated. I’m sure you have an active imagination.”
That he did. The baron must refer to the extra assassins that had been dispatched to Ferelden. He should not have come here. He should have stayed at Alistair’s side and protected the king from harm. Did Alistair still live? Did Aedan? Contemplating their deaths caused Zevran an unaccountable sorrow and he despised the feeling. His friendships were a weakness that could be exploited. A part of him felt ready to resign then and there, to admit defeat and meet his fate. A fitting culmination to the growing list of failures in his wake. Then he remembered his unfinished tasks, and unfulfilled promises and his spine straightened and Zevran felt a purpose and a desire to live, if not just to put this chapter of his life behind him.
“Alistair and Aedan are well equipped to take care of any additional assassins you may have sent.” He tried to infer that the original five had already been taken care of.
“On a first name basis with the king are you? I am impressed. As to these additional assassins, none have been sent. Does that comfort you? The opposite thought seemed t comfort Anora somewhat. I aim to please.”
“You are not a man of your word then, Baron? I am surprised!” But relieved, Zevran did not add.
The baron did not answer, he merely gestured the assassins behind him. The three of them drew their weapons and stepped around the couch. Zevran stood and drew his weapons. He would not go down without a fight. The baron stood and gave a half bow.
“If you gentlemen will excuse me, I must go attend to my father.” The old man in the bed upstairs... He glanced at the assassins and added, “Try not to destroy the room entirely.” He left the room as the three rogues moved toward Zevran in a circling pattern.
Zevran’s dagger was still poisoned so his strategy would be to make a strike, any strike, where he could and hope that enough poison entered the wound to debilitate his opponent. He also hoped that Juilden would soon make an appearance. Zevran flexed his knees and waited for them to attack. Two came at once, from the sides while the third held back, awaiting the outcome. Sensible, really, Zevran’s mind noted. There wasn’t enough of him for three men to effectively engage. Smiling at his thoughts Zevran engaged, sweeping his blades in two different directions to block both men at the same time before spinning to the side and placing himself squarely in front of one of them. He could not fight two men at once.
A pair of blades crossed before him and instead of leaning back, Zevran chanced to duck below them, feeling the rush of air over his head. He swept his dagger across the exposed knee of the man before him and quickly stood again to meet the man’s interested expression. Zevran laughed and lifted his blades before him in whirlwind maneuver as both men closed in before him. The room spun in a clash of steel and Zevran felt the skin part on one of his arms. It stung, pain was good, it usually meant no poison. When he faced his opponents again, only one remained standing, the other had succumbed to the poison and had collapsed. The third man stepped forward to take his place. Zevran ducked and parried both of them for a time, surprising even himself with the number of blows he managed to catch, but he could not get a hit in. He needed a plan.
Launching another flurry he took small sideways steps until he felt he had the distance required and then he broke and ran. He leapt to the top of the desk and sliced down at his attackers, trying for their heads and their necks. Blood ran freely down his arm and he could feel the grip of his sword sticking to his palm. One of the assassins got a blow in against his knee, numbing it, and Zevran moved back across the desk. He managed a low sweep at a neck and watched as another of the men fell beside the desk leaving him with a single opponent. Leaping from the desk, he stumbled a moment as his knee threatened to buckle beneath him and noticed also that his banged wrist had started to ache. The slice across his arm had stiffened and Zevran tried to shake off his injuries as he advanced upon the final assassin.
They were well matched and traded many strikes and parries before each settled into an easy stance across from one another. The assassin spoke. “More of my brothers wait outside for you. I could give you a quick death, you have proven yourself a worthy opponent.”
“Now is not the time for conversation, my friend.” Zevran launched himself at his opponent, striking forward before spinning back on himself and ducking low, sweeping in with his blade. He heard a grunt as the keen edge pierced the leather and uttered a hiss himself as he felt the same sting across his shoulder. Disengaging he kicked backwards and turned again to face the assassin raising his blades for a flurry. His kick had dropped the man’s head and so Zevran crossed his blades and sliced over the exposed neck. The body dropped to the ground.
Standing there, panting, his ears ringing, Zevran looked over the bodies before him. He hurt, his wounds had stiffened and fatigue had started to settle into his bones. He did not relish the thought of what might wait outside. Perhaps he would visit with the baron first? Zevran wiped his blades over the back of the couch and left the room at a sprint. He took the stairs two at a time to the landing and ran down the hall to the room occupied by the elderly man. He burst through the door with no subtlety whatsoever and blinked into the darkness. The room was empty.
Whirling, he ran to Anora’s room and through the open balcony doors. He would not waste any more time on this baron, that would only further distract him from his mission. For now, he wanted to find Juilden, collect Anora’s head and meet with the guild master. Then, perhaps he might actually sail back to Ferelden to deliver his gift to Alistair. Zevran chuckled as he thought of the appropriateness of his wedding gift. Gruesome yes, but also fitting. The chuckle died on his lips as he dropped from the balcony and into the small group of bodies below.
#720
Posté 14 avril 2010 - 04:33
FerreusVir
-
- Members
- 27 messages
Ah Zev, murdering faces and taking names in true badass fashion. Well done!
*patiently awaits the next chapter*
*patiently awaits the next chapter*
#721
Posté 14 avril 2010 - 04:39
Sisimka
-
- Members
- 935 messages
bob-san wrote...
I'll be having Alistair take care of Logain. Based on what I've gleamed about him from TST, him dying at Alistair's hands is justice in Logain's eyes.
I had Aedan kill Logain for a couple of reasons. One was that Aedan fought the duel, so it seemed fitting that he would make the final blow. Another was that Aedan had pretty much had it with the nobility by then, he was pretty raw from his encounter with Howe. Final reason was Harrowmont's fate. He didn't want the blood of Loghain on Alistair's hands.
#722
Posté 14 avril 2010 - 04:40
Sandtigress
-
- Members
- 3 967 messages
Dun dun dun....what will happen next!
I like the intrigue and how you tied in one of Zevran's last missions, very well done! And I love your exploration of Zevran's feelings and how he isn't goody-two-shoes perfect Zev that's in a lot of people's stories. He's still a really torn man, even after three years, and its wonderful!
I like the intrigue and how you tied in one of Zevran's last missions, very well done! And I love your exploration of Zevran's feelings and how he isn't goody-two-shoes perfect Zev that's in a lot of people's stories. He's still a really torn man, even after three years, and its wonderful!
#723
Posté 14 avril 2010 - 04:54
Sisimka
-
- Members
- 935 messages
Sandtigress wrote...
I like the intrigue and how you tied in one of Zevran's last missions, very well done! And I love your exploration of Zevran's feelings and how he isn't goody-two-shoes perfect Zev that's in a lot of people's stories. He's still a really torn man, even after three years, and its wonderful!
Thanks so much Sandi! I'm glad its coming together so well. I had all these ideas while writing gifts and couldn't wait to explore them in this story. I'm trying to draw together a few loose ends here, another of which is still to come. The last chapter of 'Brothers' will end up being an epilogue of sorts to 'Gifts' and believe it or not (though you mostly likely will) I haven't made Zevran's decision yet. He will tell me what he wants when the time comes.
#725
Posté 14 avril 2010 - 04:57
Kallian13
-
- Members
- 90 messages
I always feel so bad for Zev when he thinks of Rinna. Poor Zev!
Although Zev kicking some butt is always nice
Although Zev kicking some butt is always nice
