Ensnared was her attention over Deia, with the way the wild woman had drawn closer to Verena, she became entranced, her stare fixated in a hypnotic-like state as Deia caressed her curls. Her shoulders hitched with tension as a memory of her mother came to her, one that left her gazing at Deia in confusion. Verena’s brows pinched together in this haze of contemplation, she wanted to glance to Isai, to seek help. Yet… she couldn’t.
‘I’ve seen finer order in a pigsty than upon thy head, as a mop doth hold more grace than that wretched tangle!’Her mother’s chastisement filled her head, echoing in a profound way to where she could almost smell her liquored breath assailing her nose.
She blinked. Instead of the red-rimmed eyes of her mother staring at her in disgust, Verena recentered herself with the simple action, where she regarded Deia, staring in miration at her dull grey eyes. The wild woman had fallen into a curious state of some sort, perhaps deep in recollection, her fingers hovering just over Verena’s mane. She had expected her to give a sharp tug, just like her mother, yet none came. Deia turned away from Verena with such suddenness that she stood there in confusion, blinking at the empty space that she had filled seconds before.
And then came Isai, his whispered words drawing her attention away,
“A note from the history books: appear weak when you are strong and appear strong when you are weak.”She swallowed the knot that had formed in her throat, shifting her weight uncomfortably as Isai began to placate Deia with her angered demands for release.
The following events transpired with such haste that Verena couldn’t help but liken herself to a tiny boat being tossed about a stormy sea. And just when she thought she couldn’t tolerate the noise and cacophony of voices…
the Emperor appeared.‘Either move up the stairs or down the tunnel… know there is danger no matter which direction you go…’Upon the Emperor’s appearance, Verena heard Isai at her side, amidst a groan at what he must have perceived as amateurish wordplay, was suddenly gagged as he exclaimed,
“Dominus noster!” Then looking over upon feeling him stir, he seemed to have the good sense to prostrate himself before Emperor Uriel Septim. His proskynesis was a peculiar state to see him in certainly, for although he frequently made shows of respect, he rarely showed any genuine reverence for anything. She could tell that his smile, though hard to see aimed at the ground, was nervously worn for how stiff he was and by droplets of sweat forming on his neck.
Tugging upon Isai’s sleeve, Verena whispered to him, glancing to Deia before looking down at him, her face twisted in concern,
“Isai…” she said, her words soft with a notable tremble,
“W-what… what are we to do?”Already, others were beginning to follow after the Emperor into the tunnel…
“We keep our heads down!” Isai squawked quietly through gritted teeth. He wanted to look up at the Blades, but held his deep bow. Had they said something about riots and violence in the streets? Sounds of combat at the top of the stairwell? They pushed their way through the crowd to activate a secret doorway — whatever was happening, they thought the Emperor’s life was in danger and were going to escort him through a secret tunnel. Kissing the Emperor’s feet be damned, any sudden move aimed towards the elderly Septim would quickly see his head removed from his shoulders! He rather liked his head.
As the Emperor’s entourage moved away from his corner of the cell and as some of the prisoners rushed out upon their sudden pardon, Isai inched away and stood up, pushing his back against the bars of the cell.
“Uh, well, ah…” He began with a stammer.
“Well, let’s be logical about this… I should probably keep my distance, yes? A dozen pardoned prisoners of no significant status rushing the Emperor to talk with him while his bodyguards are escorting him can not be a good idea… there’s danger outside, and maybe there’s less down there… those are the Blades, and they’re the best of the best, but they’ll protect the Emperor long before me… meanwhile the Imperial Watch—”Isai flinched as a watchman’s dented helmet rolled down the spiral staircase with a loud bang for every step it fell onto, before finally rolling into a wall and leaving a bloody imprint.
“—they have their hands full, the mysterious tunnel it is then.” Isai quickly concluded. He looked to Verena, concerned yet decisively,
“Mysterious tunnel. Which I suppose works quite well for me! I can record the events that transpire within proximity of the Emperor, if…”Isai dug through his satchel to confirm that he still possessed the belongings he needed, then the bard beamed,
“If I have my journal and quill! Blessed gods, I do!”Then came the flood of ideas and questions he could harry the Blades with, and suddenly Isai’s previous thought of leaving them well enough alone seemed like the far less lucrative option.
Deia did not bow or turn to submission under the eyes of the Blades. Isai and Verena may have, but Deia remained unmoved. Poised. Taut.
Waiting. Her gaze latched, and not in reverence - but in seeking any tremors or weakness beneath their well-trained discipline.
She did not fear the Emperor, either. To her, he was just a man, and no different from the nobles and courtiers she had long since been abandoned by. He too, would find his way to the soil and bloat and blacken all the same. The same worms that would feast on beggars in the slums of the Imperial City would feast on him. The gilded tombs of the Septim would not raise him above the reach of decay.
Verena’s eyes swept over those that lingered, though they would all have to make a decision with haste from the sound of it. Her attention drifted to Deia, almost as if some unearthly force drew her gaze back.
Gulping down the growing anxiety of the situation, she cleared her throat to address her, “You should come with us into the tunnels.”
“She should?” Isai quipped, eyeballing her nervously.
Verena spared a glance to Isai, the pit of her stomach twisting into a knot, partly composed of nervousness, the other portion nameless,
“She should.”“If the Emperor is going down this way, maybe it’s best we do too.” She replied, loud enough for both of them to hear.
Deia slipped the flask of Rotmeth into the folds of her cloak as her posture altered; alert, looming. The Bosmer may have disappeared into the tunnel, but Deia was not yet finished with her. “I am no servant or disciple to a King…” Deia muttered in response, reacting to a twitch in her neck that shuddered out her balanced poise and had her turn to meet the eyes of Verena. The woman’s nerves were palpable and had mixed to her scent. Isai was seeking opportunity this way, that much she could deduce.
The poet and the King… The broad silhouette of the Cathay-raht had already vanished into the long darkness of the tunnel and swallowed by its yawn. He couldn’t be trusted to watch over himself, let alone anyone else he called out to; announcing himself as some lead forward. No, his mind flitted too easily, slipping through questions like sand through fingers.
Deia’s lips curled and she ‘tsked’ in distaste for him. The tunnels breathed around them all now and she did not trust their silence amidst the chaos. Verena was small, fragile, and
yet not. The scent of the roses clung to her in a familiar way that made Deia’s stomach twist. Something about her presence pulled and pinched at the edges of a memory. Something half formed or lost, a thread that had pulled and left a trail. The way she had flashed her loyalty to Isai – a fire beneath her soft exterior. Was it that? It was unwelcome, whatever it was. The feeling clawed and pressed against her ribs from the inside.
Protect her.
“Stay at me,” she said to Verena, suppressing the feeling as she stepped closer. It was not a request. It was a demand. The shadows thickened still, and as her voice edged with something dangerous, her fingers flexed, magic coiling beneath her skin. “If anything tries to do harm to us this way,” she whispered, “I will show them true chaos.”
She meant it. Isai could tell that much, and whether she had talent that could back her confidence or not, he would’ve either way held the skeptical notion that the spillways of her magicka reserves would claim him as well if he kept
too close if her allegations of
true chaos held true. She claimed servitude to no king, but she clearly served different matters. She seemed too… mercurial; too little mastery over the dark forest of her heart, a spectacle claimed and entangled by nature and its thorns. Was she truly a mage or witch in the truest sense, having mastery over her powers, or was she simply a rip and tear in the fabric of Mundus, a conduit through which magicka flowed freely? In the eternal battle of mastering versus becoming mastered, the dichotomy between the two seemed like bubbles poised at distant ends of a level. He’d admit at least one thing though: he’d have to be closer to being like her if he wanted to balance himself at its center.
“A leashed and registered caliber of chaos, I hope...” He muttered to himself.
Verena inhaled, taking a deep breath to steel her nerves, and let the exhale roll through her. She fixed her cloak about her neck once more, securing its pin before she shook out her hands.
“Right… let’s not tarry a moment longer.” Verena said, grasping both of them by the elbows of their attire. She gave Isai a gentle nudge forward, taking the middle herself, and pulling Deia in behind her. With the three in tow and trailing behind the retinue following the Emperor, they ducked their heads under the stonework and descended into the darkness below the prison.
Quest Abandoner
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