User blog:Lordkenyon/The Silver Talon Part 3: The Arcanist's Memories

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Anrielle Viscien was nervous. Her eyes darted around the room far too often, and the rate of her heartbeat could not have been healthy. A man, a bit of a philosopher, had once told her that a person has a certain amount of heartbeats in their life. Once they ran out you would perish. If that was the case, moments like this were severely limiting Anrielle’s life expectancy.



“I called a meeting of seven.” Vorth Frostbeard said, breaking the silence. The air seemed to tremble as his quiet voice spoke, a testament to the might of the true Voice within him. Vorth himself was a seemingly ancient man, his face as craggy as a mountainside and his beard and thin hair as white as a snowy peak. Beneath a jerkin of scarred mail and boiled leather he wore the remains of once ornate black robes, and on the table before him a dented spectacle helm had found a temporary resting place.



“and yet…” Vorth’s eyes passed over those present. “...there are eight.”



Anrielle remembered how Elianwen had told her not to be so timid, to be more confident in her abilities. Elianwen could say that all she wanted, it didn’t seem to be much use right now.



“One of your seven comes as two.” Vorth turned his gaze to Elianwen as she spoke, and regarded her for a moment.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I requested your presence, not that of your <span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-style:italic;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">pet <span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">.” Vorth, like all old men, seemed to have stored up a great deal of venom during his long life, and he poured it all into the last word and all it suggested. Anrielle felt her cheeks redden, and Elianwen’s face darkened in rage, her eyes the deep red of life blood. The dunmer seemed about to kill Vorth, or die trying.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I am no pet.” Anrielle’s voice quivered, and she wasn’t sure if it was from anger or fear.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Elianwen, <span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-style:italic;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">control <span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;"> your worthless mage.” Vorth’s voice was calm, collected, laced with condescension.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“An, this isn’t the time.” Elianwen’s voice was thick with swallowed fury and swallowed pride. The dunmer had gained a moment to assess the situation, and had chosen caution. They had come a long way to be here, had spent a fair share of coin while doing so. It was utterly wrong that they would come all this way only to be mocked and doubted. It was wrong that they were being bullied and cowed into accepting it. Anrielle was beginning to realize that she was furious.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“You have no idea. No idea of what I can do.” Anrielle was on her feet, though she didn’t recall standing up. Her hands were flat upon the table, her chair somewhere on the floor behind her. Thin strands of arcane flame slipped between her fingers, and the smell of burning wood began to tinge the air. Elianwen was halfway to standing, one of her longswords half drawn from its scabbard, forgotten for the moment given the elf’s dumbstruck expression. The redguard was on his feet with shield in hand, though he was still fumbling for his weapon. The orc had risen as well, but had encountered no difficulty in filling his hand with steel. The imperial, a crossbreed by the look of him, stood, shifting his weight nervously. Only Vorth, the altmer, and the Warrior were still seated.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Which is not a problem found with the others here.” Vorth replied carefully, the edge of arrogance suddenly absent. “I know they are capable. Yet I do not know that you are, and this little tantrum suggests you are not.”

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“If you need Elianwen for your moronic pipe dream, then you need me. You either get both of us, or neither. If you can’t see that, then maybe you’re the senile invalid that you seem.” A small voice within Anrielle was deeply questioning what she was doing and saying. The voice had a point, the likelihood of this ending well for her or Elianwen was quite low.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Vorth’s face contorted in anger, finally showing emotion over this affair. He slammed his fist against the table with such force that his spectacle helmet tipped over. Vorth paid it no heed as it rolled, clattering, to the floor. Those standing, including the now-readied Elianwen, glared at each other in tense silence. The Warrior had leaned forward, his cold eyes betraying an unsettling excitement. Vorth’s mouth formed a bitter snarl as he opened it to speak.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I would avoid further antagonizing the fledgling, Vorth.” The altmer’s visible features were delicate, yet regal, the perfection of classic elven beauty. The rest were concealed beneath a pale silken blindfold, which despite its elegant embroidery could not seem unlike a bandage. Her hair was so black that it made a raven seem pasty, and was matched only by her voice in its dark beauty.

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<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“She happens to be, by my guess, on the verge of incinerating this room and everyone in it. I would be ever so thankful if you would cease your efforts in bringing that about.”

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Vorth’s mouth closed, almost slowly. He settled back in his seat, and the room seemed to relax.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“You got caught up in your little game, which you shouldn’t have been playing to start with. The fledgling could have proven herself without this contrived farce.” The Altmer carried no weapons, but Anrielle concluded that the sharpness of her words could serve well enough.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“She couldn’t have proven her spirit…” Vorth muttered.

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<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“To Oblivion with her spirit! I may not be able to speak here for the others, but I came here for business, not to watch children bicker. Let the poor girl in, and be done with it.”

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“We can’t do that.” The orc protested. “We know nothing about her!”

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Vorth turned to the orc. “No Magrask, she joins.” The old man seemed to sigh.

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<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I can’t accept this Vorth.”

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“You were exiled from your stronghold for cowardice. I took a chance with you, you will tolerate me taking another.” As Vorth spoke, Magrask furled his brow, then sat down, apparently finding Vorth’s conclusion valid.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Those who had risen to their feet found themselves back in their seats, and order returned to the room.

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<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“What was <span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-style:italic;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">that <span style="font-size:14.666666666666666px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:400;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">?” Elianwen whispered to Anrielle, her voice betraying her worry. And her pride. Anrielle shrugged, and turned to her friends. As her lips formed the start of an answer, Vorth chose that moment to stand.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Arial;font-size:14.6667px;font-weight:400;line-height:1.38;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Now that the count of our membership is resolved, this meeting can begin.”